


Ripples in Time II: The Deathly Hallows

by marysiak



Series: The Marks We Bear [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deathly Hallows AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 77,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9349532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marysiak/pseuds/marysiak
Summary: Excerpted rewritten sections of The Deathly Hallows showing what is changed by Marks We Bear and Circles of Influence, my AU versions of book 5. Contains a lot of original text from the book.





	1. The Dark Lord Ascending

The two figures appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other's chests; then, recognizing each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking briskly in the same direction.

"News?" asked the taller of the two.

"The best," replied Narcissa Malfoy.

The lane was bordered on the left by scrubby woodland, on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge. The figure's long cloaks flapped around their ankles as they walked.

"Thought I might be late," said Yaxley, his blunt features sliding in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. "It was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope he will be satisfied. You sound confident that your reception will be good?"

Narcissa nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved into them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of imposing wrought-iron gates barring their way. Neither of them broke step. In silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through, as though the dark metal was smoke.

The beech hedges muffled the sound of their footsteps. There was a rustle somewhere to their right: Yaxley drew his wand again pointing it over his companion’s head, but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a rabbit, running out of the hedge and across the path, it’s white tail bouncing behind it.

“This place is half gone to seed ...” Yaxley thrust his wand back under his cloak with a snort.

A handsome, but dilapidated manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge a toad was croaking loudly. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as Narcissa and Yaxley sped toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though nobody had visibly opened it.

The hallway was large, dimly lit, and had once been sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent but moth-eaten carpet covering most of the stone floor. The dark eyes of the portraits on the wall followed Narcissa and Yaxley as they strode past. They halted at a heavy wooden door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Narcissa turned the gilt handle.

The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The room’s usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome granite mantelpiece surmounted by a vast painting of some foreign land. Narcissa and Yaxley lingered for a moment on the threshold. As their eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, they were drawn upward to the strangest feature of the scene: an apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bare, polished surface of the table below. None of the people seated underneath this singular sight were looking at it except for a pale faced young woman sitting almost directly below it. She seemed unable to prevent herself from glancing upward every minute or so.

“Yaxley. Narcissa,” said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. “You are very nearly late.”

The speaker was seated directly in front of the fireplace, so that it was difficult, at first, for the new arrivals to make out more than his silhouette. As they drew nearer, however, his face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow.

“Narcissa, here,” said Voldemort, indicating the seat one to his immediate right, next to Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Yaxley – beside Dolohov.”

They took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Narcissa, and it was to her that Voldemort spoke first.

“So?”

“My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall.”

The interest around the table sharpened palpably: Some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Narcissa and Voldemort.

“Saturday ... at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Narcissa’s pale blue ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Narcissa, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

“Good. Very good. And this information comes –“

“ – from the source we discussed,” said Narcissa.

“My Lord.” Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table at Voldemort and Narcissa.

All faces turned to him.

“My Lord, I have heard differently.”

Yaxley waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on, “Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen.”

Narcissa was smiling. “My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible.”

“I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain,” said Yaxley.

“If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain,” said Narcissa. “I assure you, Yaxley, beyond those already part of the Order, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry.”

“The Order’s got one thing right, then, eh?” said a squat man sitting a short distance from Yaxley; he gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there along the table.

Voldemort did not laugh. His gaze had wandered upward to the body revolving slowly overhead, and he seemed to be lost in thought. “My Lord,” Yaxley went on, “Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy –“

Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Yaxley subsided at once, watching resentfully as Voldemort turned back to Narcissa.

“Where are they going to hide the boy next?”

“At the home of one of the Order,” said Narcissa. “I have been able to discover which one, but according to the source, it has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest.”

“Well, Yaxley?” Voldemort called down the table, the firelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. “Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?”

Once again, all heads turned. Yaxley squared his shoulders.

“My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have – with difficulty, and after great effort – succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse.”

Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed; his neighbour, Dolohov, a man with a long, twisted face, clapped him on the back.

“It is a start,” said Voldemort. “But Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. Another failed attempt on a Minister’s life will make us appear weak.”

“Yes – my Lord, that is true – but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down.”

“As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest,” said Voldemort. “At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels.”

“We are at an advantage there, my Lord,” said Yaxley, who seemed determined to receive some portion of approval. “We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately.”

“He will not do either,” said Narcissa. “The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place.”

“All the better,” said Voldemort. “He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far.”

Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, “I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs.”

The company around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them, by his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potter’s continued existence. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of them, still addressing the unconscious body above him.“I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. Harry Potter must die, and I must be the one to kill him, and I shall be.”

At these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn-out cry of misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked downward, startled, for the sound had seemed to issue from below their feet.

“Rodolphus,” said Voldemort, with no change in his quiet, thoughtful tone, and without removing his eyes from the revolving body above, “have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?”

“Yes, my Lord,” gasped the man in question, who scrambled from his seat and left the room to attend to this prisoner

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see ... you.” He pointed a long thin finger at a man near the end of the table, who looked terrified.

“My Lord?” the man said helplessly.

“I require your wand, bring it to me.”

The man stood up, his legs shaking, and brought his wand to Lord Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely.

“What is it?”

“Blackthorn, my Lord” whispered the terrified man.

“And the core?”

“Dragon – dragon heartstring.”

“Good,” said Voldemort. He drew out his wand and compared the lengths. The man made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive Voldemort’s wand in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously.

“Give you my wand? _My_ wand?”

Some of the throng sniggered.

“What is your name?”

“S… Serapis Parkinson, my Lord,” the man stuttered.

“Ah,” he glanced at Mr and Mrs Parkinson where they were seated with Pansy, they looked as nervous as their relative. Your niece did me a great favour, but I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late ... What is it about my presence in your family home that displeases you?”

“Nothing – nothing, my Lord!”

“Such lies ...” Although he was ostensibly speaking to the man next to him, his eyes pinned the Parkinson family to their chairs. The soft voice seeming to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving.

One or two of the wizards barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table.

The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Voldemort’s chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across Voldemort’s shoulders: its neck the thickness of a man’s thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers, still looking at Mr and Mrs Parkinson.

“Why do the Parkinsons look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Mr. Parkinson. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it – we do.”

To his left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his daughter, Pansy, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

“My Lord,” said Mrs. Parkinson, her voice constricted with an unknown emotion, “It is an honour to have you here, in our family’s house. There can be no higher pleasure.”

“As it should be,” hissed Bellatrix Lestrange from beside Voldemort. “This dump that you call a home is barely worth the honour of our Lord’s presence.” She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.

“Ah Bellatrix,” said Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. “Always looking out for me.”

Her face flooded with colour; her eyes welled with tears of delight.

“My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!”

“Such a loyal subject ... despite your families constant disappointments.”

She lowered her eyes, sensing his mood was malicious.

“I have always been loyal and always will be, my Lord.”

“I’m talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Narcissa. She is marrying into the Weasley family is she not, their eldest boy, and half way to a werewolf from what I hear. You must be so proud.”

There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The giant snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and Narcissa’s humiliation. Many would like to take Bellatrix place as their Lord’s favoured Death Eater, and even more were unhappy in the trust he seemed to be placing in Narcissa Malfoy, despite the recent betrayal of her husband and son.

Bellatrix’s face, so recently flushed with happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.

“She is no niece of ours, my Lord,” she cried over the outpouring of mirth. “We, Narcissa and I – have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any blood-traitor she marries.”

“And what about Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. “Will he attend the wedding, Narcissa?”

Unnoticed, Pansy Parkinson jerked in her seat.

The hilarity mounted; but Narcissa remained calm and unmoved. “I believe so, my Lord. I have been invited myself, they put that much trust in me. Would you prefer I not attend?”

“Enough,” said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. “Enough.”And the laughter died at once. “I care not if you attend, whatever keeps them fooled.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Narcissa.

“Will Harry Potter attend this wedding?”

“It seems unlikely that they would go to such lengths to hide him, only to risk him attending such a public event.”

He turned back to Bellatrix. “Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,” he said as she gazed at him, breathless and imploring, “You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest.”

“Yes, my Lord,” whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. “At the first chance!”

“You shall have it soon enough,” said Voldemort. “And in your family, so in the world ... we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain ...”

Voldemort raised Serapis Parkinson’s wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.

“Do you recognize our guest, Narcissa? You were on the school board briefly I believe,” asked Voldemort.

Narcissa raised her eyes to the upside down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, “Please! Help me!”

“I’m afraid not,” said Narcissa as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

“Perhaps Pansy does?” asked Voldemort, stroking the snake’s snout with his wand-free hand.

Pansy nodded her head jerkily. Now that the woman had woken, she seemed unable to look at her anymore.

“For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

There were small noises of comprehension around the table. A broad, hunched woman with pointed teeth cackled.

“Yes ... Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles ... how they are not so different from us ...”

One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Charity Burbage revolved to face Pansy again.

“Miss Parkinson … Pansy ... please ... please ... “

“Silence,” said Voldemort, with another twitch of the new wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. “Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance ... She would have us all mate with Muggles ... or, no doubt, werewolves ... “

Nobody laughed this time. There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort’s voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Pansy. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Pansy looked back at her, trying and failing not to shake, as she turned slowly away from her again.

“I hoped you had more strength, Pansy,” Voldemort crooned. “But it seems one death was all you had in you. A shame. Avada Kedavra.”

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs. Pansy fell out of hers onto the floor. “Dinner, Nagini,” said Voldemort softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered from his shoulders onto the polished wood.

  



	2. The Wedding

Three o’clock on the following afternoon found Harry, Ron, Fred and George standing outside the great white marquee in the orchard, awaiting the arrival of the rest of the wedding guests. Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and was now the double once more of the redheaded Muggle boy he had been when attending Arthur Weasley’s funeral. The plan was to introduce Harry as “Cousin Barny” and trust to the great number of Weasley relatives to camouflage him. Draco was inside with Ginny and his Mother, fuming, as no-one had warned him in advance that the hair in his polyjuice, taken from a Muggle friend of Hermione’s, was female. Harry, Ron and the twins had nearly ended themselves laughing and as a result Draco was no longer speaking to any of them, or to Hermione as the supplier of the hair, or to Snape who had brought him the potion.

All four of them were clutching seating plans, so that they could help show people to the right seats. A host of white-robed waiters had arrived an hour earlier, along with a golden jacketed band, and all of these wizards were currently sitting a short distance away under a tree. Harry could see a blue haze of pipe smoke issuing from the spot.

Behind Harry, the entrance to the marquee revealed rows and rows of fragile golden chairs set on either side of a long purple carpet. The supporting poles were entwined with white and gold flowers. Fred and George had fastened an enormous bunch of golden balloons over the exact point where Bill and Tonks would shortly become husband and wife. Outside, butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow.

Harry was rather uncomfortable. The Muggle boy whose appearance he was affecting was slightly fatter than him and his dress robes felt hot and tight in the full glare of a summer’s day.

“When I get married,” said Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, “I won’t be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I’ll put a full Body Bind Curse on Mum until it’s all over.”

“She wasn’t too bad this morning, considering,” said George. “Cried a bit about Dad not being here, but we were expecting that. Oh blimey, brace yourselves, here they come, look.”

Brightly coloured figures were appearing, one by one out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard beyond the row of Auror security. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee. Exotic flowers and bewitched birds fluttered on the witches’ hats, while precious gems glittered from many of the wizards’ cravats; a hum of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees as the crowd approached the tent.

“Excellent, I think I see Fleur and her sister coming,” said George, craning his neck for a better look. “They’ll need help understanding our English customs, I’ll look after them….”

“Not so fast, Your Holeyness,” said Fred, and darting past the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading for the procession, he said, “Here – _permetiez moi_ to _assister_ _vous_ ,” to Fleur and Gabrielle, who giggled and allowed him to escort them inside.

George was left to deal with the middle-aged witches and Ron took charge of Mr. Weasley’s old Ministry-colleague Perkins, while a rather deaf old couple fell to Harry’s lot.

“ All right there ,” said a familiar voice as he came out of the marquee again and found  Hagrid at the front of the queue.  “ Sirius told me you were the one with the curly hair.” he added in a  not very quiet  whisper as Harry led  hi m  to the magically enlarged and reinforced seat set aside for him in the back row. 

Harry hurried back to the entrance to find Ron face-to-face with a most eccentric-looking wizard. Slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length white hair the texture of candyfloss, he wore a cap whose tassel dangled in front of his nose and robes of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow. An odd symbol, rather like a triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around his neck.

“Xenophilius Lovegood,” he said, extending a hand to Harry, “my daughter and I live just over the hill, so kind of the good Weasleys to invite us. But I think you know my Luna?” he added to Ron.

“Yes,” said Ron. “Isn’t she with you?”

“She lingered in that charming little garden to say hello to the gnomes, such a glorious infestation! How few wizards realize just how much we can learn from the wise little gnomes – or, to give them their correct name, the Gernumbli gardensi.”

“Ours do know a lot of excellent swear words,” said Ron, “but I think Fred and George taught them those.”

He led a party of warlocks into the marquee as Luna rushed up.

“Hello, Harry!” she said.

“Er – my name’s Barry,” said Harry, flummoxed.

“Oh, have you changed that too?” she asked brightly.

“How did you know -?”

“Oh, just your expression,” she said.

Like her father, Luna was wearing bright yellow robes, which she had accessorised with a large sunflower in her hair. Once you got over the brightness of it all, the general effect was quite pleasant. At least there were no radishes dangling from her ears.

Xenophilius, who was deep in conversation with an acquaintance, had missed the exchange between Luna and Harry. Bidding the wizard farewell, he turned to his daughter, who held up her finger and said, “Daddy, look – one of the gnomes actually bit me.”

“How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial.” Said Mr. Lovegood, seizing Luna’s outstretched fingers and examining the bleeding puncture marks. “Luna, my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today – perhaps an unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaim in Mermish – do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!”

Ron, passing them in the opposite direction let out a loud snort.

“Ron can laugh,” said Luna serenely as Harry led her and Xenophilius toward their seats, “but my father has done a lot of research on Gernumbli magic.”

“Really?” said Harry, who had long since decided not to challenge Luna or her father’s peculiar views. “Are you sure you don’t want to put anything on that bite, though?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” said Luna, sucking her finger in a dreamy fashion and looking Harry up and down. “You look smart. I told Daddy most people would probably wear dress robes, but he believes you ought to wear sun colours to a wedding, for luck, you know.”

As she drifted off after her father, Ron reappeared with an elderly witch clutching his arm. Her beaky nose, red-rimmed eyes, and leathery pink hat gave her the look of a bad-tempered flamingo.

“…and your hair’s much too long, Ronald, for a moment I thought you were Ginevra. Merlin’s beard, what is Xenophilius Lovegood wearing? He looks like an omelet. And who are you?” she barked at Harry.

“Oh yeah, Auntie Muriel, this is our cousin Barny.”

“Another Weasley? You breed like gnomes. Isn’t Harry Potter here? I was hoping to meet him. I thought he was a friend of yours, Ronald, or have you merely been boasting?”

“No – he couldn’t come –“

“Hmm. Made an excuse, did he? Not as gormless as he looks in press photographs, then. I’ve just been instructing the bride on how best to wear my tiara,” she shouted at Harry. “Goblin-made, you know, and been in my family for centuries. She’s a good-looking girl, but still – bit clumsy, already torn the dress twice and we’ve had to write off the train entirely. Well, well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I am a hundred and seven and I ought not to be on my feet too long.”

Ron gave Harry a meaningful look as he passed and did not reappear for some time. When next they met at the entrance, Harry had shown a dozen more people to their places. The Marquee was nearly full now and for the first time there was no queue outside.

“Nightmare, Muriel is,” said Ron, mopping his forehead on his sleeve. “She used to come for Christmas every year, then, thank God, she took offence because Fred and George set off a Dungbomb under her chair at dinner. Dad always says… said…” Ron trailed off and blinked twice. “Damn it,” he muttered. But fortunately he was distracted. “Wow,” he added, still blinking rather rapidly as Hermione came hurrying toward them. “You look great!”

“Always the tone of surprise,” said Hermione, though she smiled. 

Things had been less awkward between her and Ron lately, after all they had broken up almost a year ago now.  They hadn’t yet got back together, but Harry still harboured the hope they would eventually. He still didn’t entirely understand why they had broken up in the first place, he wasn’t sure they did either, especially as they both claimed the other person had been the one to break up with them. 

Hermione was wearing a floaty, lilac-col o u red dress with matching high heels; her hair was sleek and shiny. “Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn’t agree, I just met her upstairs while she was giving  Tonks the tiara. She said, ‘Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?’ and then, ‘Bad posture and skinny ankles.’”

“Don’t take it personally, she’s rude to everyone,” said Ron.

“Talking about Muriel?” inquired George, re-emerging from the marquee with Fred. “Yeah, she’s just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings.”

“Wasn’t he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?” asked Hermione.

“Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end,” conceded George.

“But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party,” said Fred. “He used to down an entire bottle of firewhisky, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his –“

“Yes, he sounds a real charmer,” said Hermione, while Harry roared with laughter.

“Never married, for some reason,” said Ron.

“ You amaze me,” said Hermione.

They were all laughing so much that none of them noticed the latecomer, a dark-haired young man with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows, until he held out his invitation to Ron and said, with his eyes on Hermione, “You look vunderful.”

“Viktor!” she shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which made a loud thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she said “I didn’t know you were – goodness – it’s lovely to see – how are you?”

Ron’s ears had turned bright red again. After glancing at Krum’s invitation as if he did not believe a word of it, he said, much too loudly, “How come you’re here?”

“Charlie invited me, we met in Romania last year,” said Krum, eyebrows raised.

Charlie had spent the last year recruiting widely across Europe for the Order and Harry presumed Krum was one of the newer additions. Harry, who had no grudge against Krum, shook hands; then feeling that it would be prudent to remove Krum from Ron’s vicinity, offered to show him his seat.

“Your friend is not pleased to see me,” said Krum, as they entered the now packed marquee. “Or is he a relative?” he added with a glance at Harry’s red curly hair.

“Cousin.” Harry muttered, but Krum was not really listening. His appearance was causing a stir, particularly amongst the female guests: He was, after all, a famous Quidditch player. While people were still craning their necks to get a good look at him, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George came hurrying down the aisle. 

“Time to sit down,” Fred told Harry, “or we’re going to get run over by the bride.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their seats in the second row behind Fred and George. Hermione looked rather pink and Ron’s ears were still scarlet. After a few moments he muttered to Harry, “Did you see he’s grown a stupid little beard?”

Harry gave a non-committal grunt.

A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda Tonks strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst coloured robes with a matching hat.

“Where’s Draco?” Harry whispered to Hermione. “Is he still sulking in the house? He’s going to miss the wedding.”

“Oh no he isn’t,” said Hermione with an evil little grin. “He’ll be here.”

A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with larger white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons.

“Ooooh!” said Hermione, swivelling around in her seat to look at the entrance.

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Tonks and her father, Ted, came walking up the aisle, Tonks doing a serviceable attempt at gliding, Ted bouncing and beaming. Tonks was wearing a very simple white dress and her hair was a very very bright red colour. She looked unusually radiant, almost glowing with happiness. She was followed by Ginny and… Harry’s mouth dropped open. Draco was following the bridal party in an identical golden dress to Ginny. They both looked very pretty despite the muffled laughter from Ginny and the look of deep detestation Draco was projecting as he attempted not to meet anyone’s eyes and clutched at his small bouquet so tightly he had broken several of the stems. Harry tried to hide any laughter, knowing Draco would not appreciate it. They reached the front and Ginny tugged Draco to the side as Tonks stepped up to Bill, who looked so happy you barely noticed the scarring on his face that Fenrir had left him with.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said a slightly singsong voice, and with a slight shock, Harry saw the same small, tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore’s funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Tonks. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls…”

“Yes, my tiara set off the whole thing nicely,” said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Ginevra’s dress is far too low cut, and who is that next to her, don’t recognise them at all.”

Ginny glanced around, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front again. Harry stared at Draco’s slender backside in the bright gold sheath and felt deeply, deeply disturbed….

“Do you, William Arthur, take Nymphadora…?”

In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Tonks were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpet-like sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Hermione turned and beamed at Harry; her eyes too were full of tears.

“…then I declare you bonded for life.”

The tufty-haired wizard waved his hand high over the heads of Bill and Tonks and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiralling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst. Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” called the tufty-haired wizard. “If you would please stand up!”

They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The s e a t s on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the  centre of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth round it, and the golden-jacketed hand trooped toward a podium.

“Smooth,” said Ron approvingly as the waiters popped up on all sides, some hearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhisky, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

“We should go and congratulate them!” said Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Tonks had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.

“We’ll have time later,” shrugged Ron, snatching three butterbeers from a passing tray and handing one to Harry. “Hermione, come on, let’s grab a table…. Not there! Nowhere near Muriel –“

Ron led the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as he went; Harry felt sure that he was keeping an eye out for Krum. By the time they had reached the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied: The emptiest was the one where Luna sat alone.

“All right if we join you?” asked Ron.

“Oh yes,” she said happily. “Daddy’s just gone to give Bill and Tonks our present.”

“What is it, a lifetime’s supply of Gurdyroots?” asked Ron.

Hermione aimed a kick at him under the table, but caught Harry instead. Eyes watering in pain, Harry lost track of the conversation for a few moments.

The band had begun to play, Bill and Tonks took to the dance floor first, to great applause, despite the facts that Tonks stood on Bill’s foot at least twice; after a while, Mr. Tonks led Mrs Weasley onto the floor, followed by his wife and Charlie Weasley.

“I like this song,” said Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few seconds later she stood up and glided onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms.

“She’s great isn’t she?” said Ron admiringly. “Always good value.”

But the smile vanished from his face at once: Viktor Krum had dropped into Luna’s vacant seat. Hermione looked pleasurably flustered but this time Krum had not come to compliment her. With a scowl on his face he said, “Who is that man in the yellow?”

“That’s Xenophilius Lovegood, he’s the father of a friend of ours,” said Ron. His pugnacious tone indicated that they were not about to laugh at Xenophilius, despite the clear provocation. “Come and dance,” he added abruptly to Hermione.

She looked taken aback, but pleased too, and got up. They vanished together into the growing throng on the dance floor.

“Ah, they are together again?” asked Krum, momentarily distracted.

“Er – sort of,” said Harry, feeling like he had stick up for Ron, and they had been getting on better again lately.

“Who are you?” Krum asked.

“Barny Weasley.”

They shook hands.

“You, Barny – you know this man Lovegood well?”

“No, I only met him today. Why?”

Krum glowered over the top of his drink, watching Xenophilius, who was chatting to several warlocks on the other side of the dance floor.

“Because,” said Krum, “If he vus not a guest of the Weasley’s I vould duel him, here and now, for vearing that filthy sign upon his chest.”

“Sign?” said Harry, looking over at Xenophilius too. The strange triangular eye was gleaming on his chest. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Grindelvald. That is Grindelvald’s sign.”

“Grindelwald… the Dark wizard Dumbledore defeated?”

“Exactly.”

Krum’s jaw muscles worked as if he were chewing, then he said, “Grindelvald killed many people, my grandfather, for instance. Of course, he vos never powerful in this country, they said he feared Dumbledore – and rightly, seeing how he vos finished. But this” – he pointed a finger at Xenophilius – “this is his symbol, I recognized it at vunce: Grindelvald carved it into a vall at Durmstrang ver he vos a pupil there. Some idiots copied it onto their books and clothes thinking to shock, make themselves impressive – until those of us who had lost family members to Grindelvald taught them better.”

Krum cracked his knuckles menacingly and glowered at Xenophilius. Harry felt perplexed. It seemed incredibly unlikely that Luna’s father was a supporter of the Dark Arts, and nobody else in the tent seemed to have recognized the triangular, finlike shape.

“Are you – er – quite sure it’s Grindelwald’s -?”

“I am not mistaken,” said Krum coldly. “I walked past that sign for several years, I know it vell.”

“Well, there’s a chance,” said Harry, “that Xenophilius doesn’t actually know what the symbol means, the Lovegoods are quite… unusual. He could have easily picked it up somewhere and think it’s a cross section of the head of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack or something.”

“The cross section of a vot?”

“Well, I don’t know what they are, but apparently he and his daughter go on holiday looking for them….”

Harry felt he was doing a bad job explaining Luna and her father.

“That’s her,” he said, pointing at Luna, who was still dancing alone, waving her arms around her head like someone attempting to beat off midges.

“Vy is she doing that?” asked Krum.

“Probably trying to get rid of a Wrackspurt,” said Harry, who recognized the symptoms.

Krum did not seem to know whether or not Harry was making fun of him. He drew his wand from inside his robe and tapped it menacingly on his thighs; sparks flew out of the end.

“Gregorovitch!” said Harry loudly, and Krum started, but Harry was too excited to care; the memory had come back to him at the sight of Krum’s wand: Ollivander taking it and examining it carefully before the Triwizard Tournament.

“Vot about him?” asked Krum suspiciously.

“He’s a wandmaker!”

“I know that,” said Krum.

“He made your wand! That’s why I thought – Quidditch –“

Krum was looking more and more suspicious.

“How do you know Gregorovitch made my wand?”

“I…I read it somewhere, I think,” said Harry. “In a – a fan magazine,” he improvised wildly and Krum looked mollified.

“I had not realized I ever discussed my vand with fans,” he said.

“So… er… where is Gregorovitch these days?”

Krum looked puzzled.

“He retired several years ago. I was one of the last to purchase a Gregorovitch vand. They are the best –although I know, of course, that your Britons set much store by Ollivander.”

Harry did not answer. He pretended to watch the dancers, like Krum, but he was thinking hard. So Voldemort was looking for a celebrated wandmaker and Harry did not have to search far for a reason. It was surely because of what Harry’s wand had done on the night that Voldemort pursued him across the skies. The holly and phoenix feather wand had conquered the borrowed wand, something that Ollivander had not anticipated or understood. Would Gregorovitch know better? Was he truly more skilled than Ollivander, did he know secrets of wands that Ollivander did not?

“This girl is very nice-looking,” Krum said, recalling Harry to his surroundings. Krum was pointing at Draco, who had just joined Luna and was asking her something. “She is a relative of the bride?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, suddenly irritated, “and she’s seeing someone. Jealous type. Big bloke. You wouldn’t want to cross him.”

Krum grunted.

“Vot,” he said, draining his goblet and getting to his feet again, “is the point of being an international Quidditch player if all the good-looking girls are taken?”

And he strode off leaving Harry to take a sandwich from a passing waiter and make his way around the edge of the crowded dance floor. He wanted to find Ron, to tell him about Gregorovitch, but he was dancing with Hermione out in the middle of the floor.

Harry headed over to Draco, who was now dancing with Luna, under great protest from the looks of things. He decided to cut in, hoping Draco wouldn’t stomp on his feet in retaliation for his humiliation.

Draco seemed relieved to see him though, and almost happily let Harry lead him in circles at the edge of the floor muttering about how his Mother had betrayed him, apparently she had been the one to transfigure the dress to match Ginny’s. Harry did his level best to be sympathetic. “Just because Tonks is my bloody cousin, it’s not fair,” Draco mumbled into his shoulder.

He had never been to a wedding before, so he could not judge how Wizarding celebrations differed from Muggle ones, though he was pretty sure that the latter would not involve a wedding cake topped with two model phoenixes that took flight when the cake was cut, or bottles of champagne that floated unsupported through the crowd. As the evening drew in, and moths began to swoop under the canopy, now lit with floating golden lanterns, the revelry became more and more unconstrained. Fred and George had long since disappeared into the darkness with Fleur Delacoeur; Ginny and Luna were distracting Gabrielle; Charlie, Hagrid, and a squat wizard in a purple porkpie hat were singing “Odo the Hero” in the corner. Draco was still sulking, although after some champagne he had deigned to sit with his Mother and talk quietly. They didn’t see each other often, after all. Harry found it a little too bizarre interacting with him when they were both in somebody else’s body, so they hadn’t spent as much time together as they would normally have even though it meant he could dance with, or even kiss Draco, without any stuffy old witch or wizard taking offence at it.

Wandering through the crowd so as to escape a drunken uncle of Ron’s who seemed unsure whether or not Harry was his son, Harry spotted an old wizard sitting alone at a table. His cloud of white hair made him look rather like an aged dandelion clock and was topped by a moth-eaten fez. He was vaguely familiar: Racking his brains, Harry suddenly realized that this was Elphias Doge, member of the Order of the Phoenix and the writer of Dumbledore’s obituary.

Harry approached him.

“May I sit down?”

“Of course, of course,” said Doge; he had a rather high-pitched, wheezy voice.

Harry leaned in. “Mr. Doge, I’m Harry Potter.”

Doge gasped. “My dear boy! We were told you were here, disguised…. I am so glad, so honoured!” In a flutter of nervous pleasure Doge poured Harry a goblet of champagne.

“I thought of writing to you,” he whispered, “after Dumbledore… the shock… and for you, I am sure…” Doge’s tiny eyes filled with sudden tears.

“I saw the obituary you wrote for the _Daily Prophet_ ,” said Harry. “I didn’t realize you knew Professor Dumbledore so well.”

“As well as anyone,” said Doge, dabbing his eyes with a napkin. “Certainly I knew him longest, if you don’t count Aberforth – and somehow, people never _do_ seem to count Aberforth.”

“Speaking of the _Daily Prophet_ … I don’t know whether you saw, Mr. Doge -?”

“Oh, please call me Elphias, dear boy.”

“Elphias, I don’t know whether you saw the interview Rita Skeeter gave about Dumbledore?”

Doge’s face flooded with angry colour.

“Oh yes, Harry, I saw it. That woman, or vulture might be a more accurate term, positively pestered me to talk to her, I am ashamed to say that I became rather rude, called her an interfering trout, which resulted, as you my have seen, in aspersions cast upon my sanity.”

“Well, in that interview,” Harry went on, “Rita Skeeter hinted that Professor Dumbledore was involved in the Dark Arts when he was young.”

“Don’t believe a word of it!” said Doge at once. “Not a word, Harry! Let nothing tarnish your memories of Albus Dumbledore!”

Harry looked into Doge’s earnest, pained face, and felt, not reassured, but frustrated. Did Doge really think it was that easy, that Harry could simply _choose_ not to believe? Didn’t Doge understand Harry’s need to be sure, to know _everything_?”

Perhaps Doge suspected Harry’s feelings, for he looked concerned and hurried on,  “ Harry, Rita Skeeter is a dreadful –“

But he was interrupted by a shrill cackle.

“Rita Skeeter? Oh, I love her, always read her!”

Harry and Doge looked up to see Auntie Muriel standing there, the plumes dancing on her hair, a goblet of champagne in her hand. “She’s written a book about Dumbledore, you know!”

“Hello, Muriel,” said Doge, “Yes, we were just discussing –“

“You there! Give me your chair, I’m a hundred and seven!”

Another red-headed Weasley cousin jumped off his seat, looking alarmed, and Auntie Muriel swung it around with surprising strength and plopped herself down upon it between Doge and Harry.

“Hello again, Barry or whatever your name is,” she said to Harry, “Now what were you saying about Rita Skeeter, Elphias? You know, she’s written a biography of Dumbledore? I can’t wait to read it. I must remember to place an order at Flourish and Blotts!”

Doge looked stiff and solemn at this but Auntie Muriel drained her goblet and clicked her bony fingers at a passing waiter for a replacement. She took another large gulp of champagne, belched and then said, “There’s no need to look like a pair of stuffed frogs! Before he became so respected and respectable and all that tosh, there were some mighty funny rumours about Albus!”

“Ill-informed sniping,” said Doge, turning radish-coloured again.

“You would say that, Elphias,” cackled Auntie Muriel. “I noticed how you skated over the sticky patches in that obituary of yours!”

“I’m sorry you think so,” said Doge, more coldly still. “I assure you I was writing from the heart.”

“Oh, we all know you worshipped Dumbledore; I daresay you’ll still think he was a saint even if it does turn out that he did away with his Squib sister!”

“ _Muriel!_ ” exclaimed Doge.

A chill that had nothing to do with the iced champagne was stealing through Harry’s chest.

“What do you mean?” he asked Muriel. “Who said his sister was a Squib? I   
thought she was ill?”

“Thought wrong, then, didn’t you, Barry!” said Auntie Muriel, looking delighted at the effect she had produced. “Anyway, how could you expect to know anything about it! It all happened years and years before you were even thought of, my dear, and the truth is that those of us who were alive then never knew what really happened. That’s why I can’t wait to find out what Skeeter’s unearthed! Dumbledore kept that sister of his quiet for a long time!”

“Untrue!” wheezed Doge, “Absolutely untrue!”

“He never told me his sister was a Squib,” said Harry, without thinking, still cold inside.

“And why on earth would he tell you?” screeched Muriel, swaying a little in her seat as she attempted to focus upon Harry.

“The reason Albus never spoke about Ariana,” began Elphias in a voice stiff with emotion, “is, I should have thought, quite clear. He was so devastated by her death –“

“Why did nobody ever see her, Elphias?” squawked Muriel, “Why did half of us never even know she existed, until they carried the coffin out of the house and held a funeral for her? Where was saintly Albus while Ariana was locked in the cellar? Off being brilliant at Hogwarts, and never mind what was going on in his own house!”

“What d’you mean, locked in the cellar?” asked Harry. “What is this?”

Doge looked wretched. Auntie Muriel cackled again and answered Harry.

“Dumbledore’s mother was a terrifying woman, simply terrifying. Muggle-born, though I heard she pretended otherwise-“

“She never pretended anything of the sort! Kendra was a fine woman,” whispered Doge miserably, but Auntie Muriel ignored him.

“\- proud and very domineering, the sort of witch who would have been mortified to produce a Squib-“

“Ariana was not a Squib!” wheezed Doge.

“So you say, Elphias, but explain, then, why she never attended Hogwarts!” said Auntie Muriel. She turned back to Harry. “In our day, Squibs were often hushed up, thought to take it to the extreme of actually imprisoning a little girl in the house and pretending she didn’t exist –“

“I tell you, that’s not what happened!” said Doge, but Auntie Muriel steamrollered on, still addressing Harry.

Squibs were usually shipped off to Muggle schools and encouraged to integrate into the Muggle community… much kinder than trying to find them a place in the Wizarding world, where they must always be second class, but naturally Kendra Dumbledore wouldn’t have dreamed of letting her daughter go to a Muggle school –“

“Ariana was delicate!” said Doge desperately. “Her health was always too poor to permit her –“

“\- to permit her to leave the house?” cackled Muriel. “And yet she was never taken to St. Mungo’s and no Healer was ever summoned to see her!”

“Really, Muriel, how can you possibly know whether –“

“For your information, Elphias, my cousin Lancelot was a Healer at St. Mungo’s at the time, and he told my family in strictest confidence that Ariana had never been seen there. All most suspicious, Lancelot thought!”

Doge looked to be on the verge of tears. Auntie Muriel, who seemed to be enjoying herself hugely, snapped her fingers for more champagne. Numbly Harry thought of how the Dursleys had once shut him up, locked him away, kept him out of sight, all for the crime of being a wizard. Had Dumbledore’s sister suffered the same fate in reverse: imprisoned for her lack of magic? And had Dumbledore truly left her to her fate while he went off to Hogwarts to prove himself brilliant and talented?

“Now, if Kendra hadn’t died first,” Muriel resumed, “I’d have said that it was she who finished off Ariana –“

“How can you, Muriel!” groaned Doge. “A mother kill her own daughter? Think what you’re saying!”

“If the mother in question was capable of imprisoning her daughter for years on end, why not?” shrugged Auntie Muriel. “But as I say, it doesn’t fit, because Kendra died before Ariana – of what, nobody ever seemed sure - Yes, Ariana might have made a desperate bid for freedom and killed Kendra in the struggle,” said Auntie Muriel thoughtfully. “Shake your head all you like, Elphias. You were at Ariana’s funeral, were you not?”

“Yes I was,” said Doge, through trembling lips, “and a more desperately sad occasion I cannot remember. Albus was heartbroken-”

“His heart wasn’t the only thing. Didn’t Aberforth break Albus’ nose halfway through the service?”

If Doge had looked horrified before this, it was nothing to how he looked now.

Muriel might have stabbed him. She cackled loudly and took another swig of champagne, which dribbled down her chin.

“How do you -?” croaked Doge.

“My mother was friendly with old Bathilda Bagshot,” said Auntie Muriel happily.

“Bathilda described the whole thing to mother while I was listening at the door. A coffin-side brawl. The way Bathilda told it, Aberforth shouted that it was all Albus’ fault that Ariana was dead and then punched him in the face. According to Bathilda, Albus did not even defend himself, and that’s odd enough in itself. Albus could have destroyed Aberforth in a duel with both hands tied behind his back.

Muriel swigged yet more champagne. The recitation of those old scandals seemed to elate her as much as they horrified Doge. Harry did not know what to think, what to believe. He wanted the truth and yet all Doge did was sit there and bleat feebly that Ariana had been ill. Harry could hardly believe that Dumbledore would not have intervened if such cruelty was happening inside his own house, and yet there was undoubtedly something odd about the story.

“And I’ll tell you something else,” Muriel said, hiccuping slightly as she lowered her goblet. “I think Bathilda has spilled the beans to Rita Skeeter. All those hints in Skeeter’s interview about an important source close to the Dumbledores – goodness knows she was there all through the Ariana business, and it would fit!”

“Bathilda, would never talk to Rita Skeeter!” whispered Doge.

“Bathilda Bagshot?” Harry said. “The author of _A History of Magic_?”

The name was printed on the front of one of Harry’s textbooks, though admittedly not one of the ones he had read more attentively.

“Yes,” said Doge, clutching at Harry’s question like a drowning man at a life heir. “A most gifted magical historian and an old friend of Albus’s.”

“Quite gaga these days, I’ve heard,” said Auntie Muriel cheerfully.

“If that is so, it is even more dishonourable for Skeeter to have taken advantage of her,” said Doge, “and no reliance can be placed on anything Bathilda may have said!”

“Oh, there are ways of bringing back memories, and I’m sure Rita Skeeter knows them all,” said Auntie Muriel “But even if Bathilda’s completely cuckoo, I’m sure she’d still have old photographs, maybe even letters. She knew the Dumbledores for years…. Well worth a trip to Godric’s Hollow, I’d have thought.”

Harry, who had been taking a sip of butterbeer, choked. Doge banged him on the back as Harry coughed, looking at Auntie Muriel through streaming eyes. Once he had control of his voice again, he asked, “Bathilda Bagshot lives in Godric’s Hollow?”

“Oh yes, she’s been there forever! The Dumbledore’s moved there after Percival was imprisoned, and she was their neighbor.”

“The Dumbledore’s lived in Godric’s Hollows?”

“Yes, Barry, that’s what I just said,” said Auntie Muriel testily.

Harry felt drained, empty. Never once, in six years, had Dumbledore told Harry that they had both lived and lost loved ones in Godric’s Hollow. Why? Were Lily and James buried close to Dumbledore’s mother and sister? Had Dumbledore visited their graves, perhaps walked past Lily’s and James’s to do so? And he had never once told Harry … never bothered to say…

And why it was so important, Harry could not explain even to himself, yet he felt it had been tantamount to a lie not to tell him that they had this place and these experiences in common. He stared ahead of him, barely noticing what was going on around him, and did not realize that Hermione had appeared out of the crowd until she drew up a chair beside him.

“I simply can’t dance anymore,” she panted, slipping off one of her shoes and rubbing the sole of her foot. “Ron’s gone looking to find more butterbeers. It’s a bit odd. I’ve just seen Viktor storming away from Luna’s father, it looked like they’d been arguing –“ She dropped her voice, staring at him. “Harry, are you okay?”

Harry did not know where to begin, but it did not matter, at that moment, something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor.

Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers.

Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus’s mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

Everything seemed fuzzy, slow. Harry and Hermione jumped to their feet and drew their wands. Many people were only just realizing that something strange had happened; heads were still turning toward the silver cat as it vanished. Silence spread outward in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody screamed.

Harry and Hermione threw themselves into the panicking crowd. Guests were sprinting in all directions; many were Disapparating; the protective enchantments around the Burrow had broken.

“Ron!” Hermione cried. “Ron, where are you?”

Harry followed her, trying to pick Draco out of the frightened crowd. As they pushed their way across the dance floor, Harry saw cloaked and masked figures appearing in the crowd; then he saw Sirius and Lupin, their wands raised, and heard both of them shout, “ _Protego!_ ”, a cry that was echoed on all sides –

“Ron! Ron!” Hermione called, half sobbing as she and Harry were buffered by terrified guests: Harry seized her hand to make sure they weren’t separated as a streak of light whizzed over their heads, whether a protective charm or something more sinister he did not know –

And then Ron and Draco were there. Ron caught hold of Hermione’s free arm, and Draco grabbed Harry just as he felt Hermione turn on the spot; sight and sound were extinguished as darkness pressed in upon him; all he could feel was Hermione’s hand as he was squeezed through space and time, away from the Burrow, away from the descending Death Eaters, away, perhaps, from Voldemort himself. . . .

“Did you just side-along all of us,” gasped Draco in amazement.

“Where are we?” said Ron’s voice.

Harry opened his eyes. For a moment he thought they had not left the wedding after all; They still seemed to be surrounded by people.

“Tottenham Court Road,” panted Hermione, a bit wobbly on her feet. “Walk, just walk, we need to find somewhere for us to change.”

Harry did as she asked. They half walked, half ran up the wide dark street thronged with late-night revellers and lined with closed shops, stars twinkling above them.

A double-decker bus rumbled by and a group of merry pub-goers ogled them as they passed; Harry and Ron were still wearing dress robes and Draco stood out a mile in his golden bridesmaid dress.

“Hermione, we haven’t got anything to change into,” Ron told her, as a young woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him.

“Why didn’t I make sure I had the Invisibility Cloak with me?” said Harry, inwardly cursing his own stupidity. “All last year I kept it on me and –“

“It’s okay, I’ve got the Cloak, I’ve got clothes for all of us,” said Hermione, “Just try and act naturally until – this will do.”

She led them down a side street, then into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway.

“When you say you’ve got the Cloak, and clothes . . .” said Harry, frowning at Hermione, who was carrying nothing except her small beaded handbag, in which she was now rummaging.

“Yes, they’re here,” said Hermione, and to Harry and Ron’s utter astonishment, she pulled out a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, some maroon socks, and finally the silvery Invisibility Cloak.

“How the ruddy hell – ?”

“Undetectable Extension Charm,” said Hermione. “Tricky, but I think I’ve done it okay; anyway, I managed to fit everything we need in here.” She gave the fragile-looking bag a little shake and it echoed like a cargo hold as a number of heavy objects rolled around inside it. “Oh, damn, that’ll be the books,” she said, peering into it, “and I had them all stacked by subject. . . . Oh well. . . . Harry, you’d better take the Invisibility Cloak, can you fit Draco under there as well? Ron, hurry up and change. . . .”

“I can’t go on the run in these shoes,” complained Draco. “I can barely walk.”

“Your own shoes won’t fit,” said Hermione. “You’ll need to wait till the Polyjuice wears off.”

“When did you do all this?” Harry asked as Ron stripped off his robes.

“I told you at the Burrow, I’ve had the essentials packed for days, you know, in case we needed to make a quick getaway. I packed your rucksack this morning, Harry, after you changed, and put it in here. . . . I just had a feeling. . . .”

“You’re amazing, you are,” said Ron, handing her his bundled-up robes.

“Thank you,” said Hermione, managing a small smile as she pushed the robes into the bag. “Please, Harry, get that Cloak on!”

Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and pulled it up over his head, vanishing from sight.  It was a lot easier to fit Draco underneath with him in his female form as he was significantly shorter than he usually was.  He was only just beginning to appreciate what had happened.

“ The others – everybody at the wedding –“

“ My Mother,” said Draco.

“We can’t worry about that now,” whispered Hermione. “It’s you they’re after, Harry, and we’ll just put everyone in even more danger by going back.”

“She’s right,” said Ron, who seemed to know that Harry was about to argue, even if he could not see his face. “Most of the Order was there, they’ll look after everyone.”

Harry nodded, then remembered that they could not see him, and said, “Yeah.”

But he thought of what had happened to Mr Weasley, and fear bubbled like acid in his stomach.

“Come on, I think we ought to keep moving,” said Hermione.

 


	3. The Bribe

If Kreacher could escape a lake full of Inferi, Harry was confident that the capture of Mundungus would take a few hours at most, and he prowled the house all morning in a state of high anticipation. However, Kreacher did not return that morning or even that afternoon. By nightfall, Harry felt discouraged and anxious, and a supper composed largely of mouldy bread, upon which Hermione had tried a variety of unsuccessful Transfigurations, did nothing to help.

Kreacher did not return the following day, nor the day after that. However, two cloaked men had appeared in the square outside number twelve, and they remained there into the night, gazing in the direction of the house that they could not see.

“Death Eaters, for sure,” said Ron, as he, Harry, and Hermione watched from the drawing room windows. “Reckon they know we’re in here?”

“I don’t think so,” said Hermione, though she looked frightened, “Or there’d be more of them, don’t you think? But they’re probably watching to see whether we turn up. They must know something about the house, after all.”

“How do they --?” began Harry.

“There’ll be paperwork in the Ministry, saying the House belongs to Sirius. I suppose they figured it was worth watching just in case.”

The presence of the Death Eaters outside increased the ominous mood inside number twelve. They had not heard a word from anyone beyond Grimmauld Place since Mrs. Weasley’s Patronus, and the strain was starting to tell. Restless and irritable, Ron had developed an annoying habit of playing with the Deluminator in his pocket; This particularly infuriated Hermione, who was whiling away the wait for Kreacher by studying The Tales of Beedle the Bard with Draco’s assistance, and did not appreciate the way the lights kept flashing on and off.

“Will you stop it!” she cried on the third evening of Kreacher’s absence, as all the light was sucked from the drawing room yet again.

“Sorry, sorry!” said Ron, clicking the Deluminator and restoring the lights. “I don’t know I’m doing it!”

“Well, can’t you find something useful to occupy yourself?”

“What, like reading kids’ stories?”

“Dumbledore left me this book, Ron –”

“—and he left me the Deluminator, maybe I’m supposed to use it!”

Unable to stand the bickering, Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and they slipped out of the room unnoticed by either of them. They headed downstairs toward the kitchen, which Harry kept visiting because he was sure that was where Kreacher was most likely to reappear. Halfway down the flight of stairs into the hall, however, they heard a tap on the front door, then metallic clicks and the grinding of the chain.

Every nerve in Harry’s body seemed to tauten: He pulled out his wand as they moved into the shadows beside the decapitated elf heads, and waited. The door opened: He saw a glimpse of the lamplit square outside, and a cloaked figure edged into the hall and closed the door behind it.

Harry pointed his wand at them. “Don’t move!”

He had forgotten the portrait of Mrs. Black: At the sound of his yell, the curtains hiding her flew open and she began to scream, “Mudbloods and filth dishonouring my house –”

Ron and Hermione came crashing down the stairs behind Harry, wands pointing, like his and Draco’s, at the unknown man now standing with his arms raised in the hall below.

“Hold your fire, it’s me, Sirius!”

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Hermione weakly, pointing her wand at Mrs. Black instead; with a bang, the curtains swished shut again and silence fell. Ron too lowered his wand, but Harry and Draco did not.

“Show yourself!” Harry called back.

Sirius moved forward into the lamplight, hands still held high in a gesture of surrender. “I am Sirius Orion Black, Harry’s godfather, sometimes known as Padfoot, one of the four creators of the Marauder’s Map, shacking up with the werewolf Remus Lupin, also known as Moony, and I could really do with a cuppa.”

“Oh, all right,” said Harry, lowering his wand, “but I had to check, didn’t I?”

“Speaking as the closest thing to a parent you have, I quite agree that you had to check. Ron, Hermione, you shouldn’t be so quick to lower your defences.”

They ran down the stairs towards him. Wrapped in a thick black travelling cloak, he looked exhausted, but pleased to see them.

“I hoped I’d find you all here,” he said.

“What’s going on?” asked Harry. “Is everyone okay?’

“Yes,” said Sirius, “but we’re all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside –”

“We know –”

“Had to Apparate right onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that they wouldn’t see me. They’re staking out everywhere that’s got any connection with you, Harry. Let’s go downstairs, there’s a lot to tell you, and I want to know what happened after you left the Burrow.”

They descended into the kitchen, where Hermione pointed her wand at the grate.

A fire sprang up instantly: It gave the illusion of cosiness to the stark stone walls and glistened off the long wooden table. Sirius pulled a bottle of Firewhisky from beneath his travelling cloak and they sat down.

“I’d have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater tailing me,” said Sirius. “So, you came straight here after the wedding?”

“No,” said Harry, “only after we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a café on Tottenham Court Road.”

Sirius nearly suffocated on his first gulp of whisky. “What?”

They explained what had happened; when they had finished, Sirius looked worried. “But how did they find you so quickly? It’s impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear.”

“And it doesn’t seem likely they were just strolling down Tottenham Court Road at the time, does it?” said Draco.

“We wondered,” said Hermione tentatively, “whether Harry could still have the Trace on him?”

“Impossible,” said Sirius. Ron looked smug, and Harry felt hugely relieved.

“Apart from anything else, they’d know for sure Harry was here if he still had the Trace on him, wouldn’t they? But I can’t see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham Court Road, that’s worrying, really worrying.”

He looked disturbed, but as far as Harry was concerned, that question could wait.

“Tell us what happened after we left, we haven’t heard a thing since Ron’s Mum told us the family was safe.”

“Well, Kingsley saved us,” said Sirius. “Thanks to his warning most of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived.”

“Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people?” interjected Hermione.

“A mixture; but to all intents and purposes they’re the same thing now,” said Sirius. “There were about a dozen of them, but they didn’t seem to know you were there, Harry. Percy heard a rumour that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; if it’s true, he didn’t give you away.”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione; their expressions reflected the mingled shock and gratitude he felt. He had never liked Scrimgeour much, but if what Sirius said was true, the man’s final act had been to try to protect Harry.

“Did Percy come home then?” said Ron, looking hopeful. Despite a brief lull in the argument when their Father had passed, Percy had been feuding with his family over his loyalties to the Ministry ever since Voldemort had returned.

“Afraid not,” said Sirius. “He did check in to let us know he was all right, but he’s gone back to work again. Says there’s plenty of good he can do from there and that he’d rather fix the system from within than join a bunch of vigilantes. That was around about when Fred and George double hexed him and he walked out.”

“Yeah,” said Ron glumly. “That sounds like Percy.”

“The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom,” Sirius went on. “They found the ghoul, but didn’t want to get too close – and then they interrogated those of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you, Harry, but of course nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there. They used the Cruciatus Curse on Tonks’s family. Again, trying to find out where you went after you visited them. At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Death Eaters were forcing their way into every Order-connected house in the country. No deaths,” he added quickly, forestalling the question, “but they were rough. They burned down Dedalus Diggle’s house, but as you know he wasn’t there. Everyone’s all right – some more shaken than others, obviously, but otherwise okay.”

“The Death Eaters got through all those protective charms on the Burrow?” Harry asked, remembering how effective these had been on the night he had crashed in Tonks’s parents’ garden.

“What you’ve got to realize, Harry, is that the Death Eaters have got the full might of the Ministry on their side now,” said Sirius. “They’ve got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They managed to penetrate every defensive spell we’d cast against them, and once inside, they were completely open about why they’d come.”

“And are they bothering to give an excuse for torturing Harry’s whereabouts out of people?” asked Hermione, an edge to her voice.

“Well,” Sirius said. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet. “Here,” he said, pushing it across the table to Harry, “you’ll know sooner or later anyway. That’s their pretext for going after you.”

Harry smoothed out the paper. A huge photograph of his own face filled the front page. He read the headline over it:

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT

THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

Ron and Hermione gave roars of outrage, Draco quietly took his hand, but Harry said nothing. He pushed the newspaper away; he did not want to read anymore: He knew what it would say. Nobody but those who had been on top of the tower when Dumbledore died knew who had really killed him and, as Rita Skeeter had already told the Wizarding world, Harry had been seen running from the place moments after Dumbledore had fallen.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Sirius said.

“So Death Eaters have taken over the Daily Prophet too?” asked Hermione furiously.

Sirius nodded.

“But surely people realize what’s going on?”

“The coup has been smooth and virtually silent,” said Sirius. “The official version of Scrimgeour’s murder is that he resigned; he has been replaced by Pius Thicknesse, who’s under the Imperius Curse.”

“Why didn’t Voldemort declare himself Minister of Magic?” asked Ron.

Draco laughed. “He doesn’t need to. Effectively, he is the Minister, he doesn’t need to sit behind a desk at the Ministry? His puppet, Thicknesse, is taking care of everyday business, leaving Voldemort free to really get things done.”

“Naturally many people have deduced what has happened,” added Sirius. “There’s been such a dramatic change in Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that Voldemort must be behind it. But, that is the point: They whisper. They daren’t confide in each other, not knowing who to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted. Yes, Voldemort is playing a very clever game. Declaring himself might have provoked open rebellion: Remaining masked has created confusion, uncertainty, and fear.”

“And this dramatic change in Ministry policy,” said Harry, “involves warning the Wizarding world against me instead of Voldemort?”

“That’s certainly a part of it,” said Sirius, “and it is a master stroke. Now that Dumbledore is dead, you – the Boy Who Lived – were sure to be the symbol and rallying point for any resistance to Voldemort. But by suggesting that you had a hand in his death, Voldemort has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have defended you. Meanwhile, the Ministry has started moving against Muggle-borns.” Sirius pointed at the Daily Prophet. “Look at page two.”

Hermione turned the pages with much the same expression of distaste she had when handling Secrets of the Darkest Art. “Muggle-born Register!” she read aloud. “‘The Ministry of Magic is undertaking a survey of so-called “Muggle-borns” the better to understand how they came to possess magical secrets.

“‘Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven Wizarding ancestry exists, therefore, the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force.

“‘The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission.’”

“People won’t let this happen,” said Ron.

“It is happening, Ron,” said Sirius. “Muggle-borns are being rounded up as we speak.”

“But how are they supposed to have ‘stolen’ magic?” said Ron. “It’s mental, if you could steal magic there wouldn’t be any Squibs, would there?”

“I know,” said Sirius. “Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least one close Wizarding relative, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power illegally and must suffer the punishment.”

Ron glanced at Hermione, then said, “What if purebloods and halfbloods swear a Muggle-born’s part of their family? I’ll tell everyone Hermione’s my cousin –”

Hermione covered Ron’s hand with hers and squeezed it.

“Thank you, Ron, but I couldn’t let you –”

“You won’t have a choice,” said Ron fiercely, gripping her hand back. “I’ll teach you my family tree so you can answer questions on it.”

Hermione gave a shaky laugh.

“Ron, as we’re on the run with Harry Potter, the most wanted person in the country, I don’t think it matters. If I was going back to school it would be different. What’s Voldemort planning for Hogwarts?” she asked Sirius. “Is Remus still there?”

“He is,” Sirius looked disturbed. “In a way, making him History of Magic teacher was a stroke of luck, no-one cares about that subject since there’s no actual magic taught in the class, and nobody wants the job because it’s so boring, so they haven’t bothered getting rid of him. I tried to get him to quit, but he’s determined to stay, even though he has to be damned careful what he teaches. Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard. That was announced yesterday. It’s a change, it was never obligatory before. Of course, nearly every witch and wizard in Britain has been educated at Hogwarts, but their parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they wanted. This way, Voldemort will have the whole Wizarding population under his eye from a young age. And it’s also another way of weeding out Muggle-borns, because students must be given Blood Status – meaning that they have proven to the Ministry that they are of Wizard descent – before they are allowed to attend.”

Harry felt sickened and angry: At this moment, excited eleven-year-olds would be poring over stacks of newly purchased spell-books, unaware that they would never see Hogwarts, perhaps never see their families again either.

“It’s . . . it’s . . .” he muttered, struggling to find words that did justice to the horror of his thoughts, but Hermione said quietly, “Horrible.” And that did seem to sum it up.

Sirius hesitated. “I’ll understand if you can’t confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.”

“He did,” Harry replied, “and Draco, Ron and Hermione are in on it and they’re coming with me.”

“Can you tell me what the mission is?”

Harry looked into his Godfather’s face, earnest and eager, and wished that he could return a different answer.

“I can’t, Sirius, I’m sorry. If Dumbledore didn’t tell you I don’t think I can.”

“I thought you’d say that,” said Sirius, looking disappointed. “But I might still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to.”

Harry hesitated. It was a very tempting offer, though how they would be able to keep their mission secret from Sirius if he were with them all the time he could not imagine.

Hermione, however, looked puzzled. “But what about Remus?” she asked.

“What about him?” said Sirius.

“Well,” said Hermione, frowning, “you’re together aren’t you! How does he feel about you going away with us?”

“Remus can look after himself,” said Sirius, “He’ll be safe at Hogwarts, teaching.” There was something strange in Sirius’s tone, it was almost cold. As if he didn’t approve of Remus’s choice to remain at the school..

“Sirius,” said Hermione tentatively, “is everything all right . . . you know . . . between you and – ”

“Everything is fine, thank you,” said Sirius pointedly. “So . . . do you accept my offer? Will four become five? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, I am your Godfather, after all. And I must tell you that I believe we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined.”

Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry, Draco continued to study Sirius with an oddly dispassionate gaze.

“Just – just to be clear,” Harry said. “You want to leave Remus and Snape and all the rest of them at the school, leave the rest of the Order, and come away with us?”

“Everyone is perfectly capable of looking after themselves,” said Sirius. “Harry, I’m sure James would have wanted me to stick with you.”

“I’m not so sure it’s a good idea,” said Harry slowly, “It’s not that I don’t want you with us, but you could be more helpful elsewhere.”

Sirius looked disappointed.

“Four is already a lot to manage, to hide, once we’re properly out there,” Harry tried to explain. “And Snape and Remus won’t be able to just move around, they’ll be stuck in the school teaching. They might need someone who can come and go from the school more freely, someone who knows the school’s secrets.” Harry had a sudden thought. “Someone with the Marauders Map.” He fished it out of his moleskine bag and offered it to Sirius. “And I’m not convinced Remus is safe there on his own, he and Snape don’t exactly get on so he can’t rely on him to watch over him, and Snape will have enough problems watching his own back, plus as a werewolf… I know Voldemort has a lot of the werewolves on his side already, but he doesn’t seem to like them, and Hermione said that Umbridge woman is the one behind all the anti-werewolf laws the Ministry have brought in lately. I just… you’re his boyfriend, you can’t just leave him there on his own!” And finally Harry had managed to say what was really bothering him. He would never have left Draco behind in such a situation.

Sirius looked pole-axed by that. “I’m not… it’s not… I can’t stop fighting just because I’m in a relationship,” he protested.

“I’m not asking you to stop fighting. I’m asking you to help Remus fight. And Snape too,” he added, “even though you hate each other.”

“But...”

“It would mean a lot to me,” said Harry. “To know that you two were together, looking out for each other. I don’t want to lose either of you.”

“Harry,” said Sirius, gently. “I’m trying to help you.”

“And I’m saying we don’t need your help, not like this any way.”

Sirius’s face turned dark. “Think you can do just as well without me do you, I was fighting Voldemort before you were born!” Sirius snapped. “I escaped from Azkaban without outside help, the only wizard to ever have done it! Twelve years I spent in there, waiting for my chance to do some good! I won’t sit behind castle walls like an old woman!”

“I’m not asking you to!” Harry shouted back. “But if you really wanted to help me, you’d do it the way I wanted, not the way you wanted! Dumbledore trusted me with this, why don’t you?”

“Harry….” Hermione tried to calm him.

“Dumbledore’s gone!” shouted Sirius. “Who cares what the old coot thought now, much good it did him!”

“How dare you talk about him like that!” yelled Harry.

“How dare you tell me what to do!”

“Well I don’t see how much use you’d be here, since you won’t listen to me!”

“Please...” cried Hermione, tugging at Harry’s arm.

“I’m here to look after you!”

“I don’t need to be looked after!” demanded Harry. “I need to do the job that Dumbledore left me to do. And right now I don’t see how you could do anything but get in our way! Go back to Hogwarts!”

They stared at each other over the table, trembling with adrenaline. Then without another word Sirius turned and stormed out of the room.

“Sirius, come back!” Hermione cried, but he did not respond. A moment later they heard the front door slam.

“Harry!” wailed Hermione. “How could you?”

“It was easy,” said Harry. He stood up, he was still so full of anger he was shaking.

“Don’t look at me like that!” he snapped at Hermione.

“Don’t you start on her!” snarled Ron.

“No – no – we mustn’t fight!” said Hermione, launching herself between them.

“You shouldn’t have said that stuff to him,” Ron told Harry.

“I needed to,” said Harry. “He should be with Remus, and if he was here he’d end up trying to take charge of what we’re doing, which would be useless when he doesn’t even know what we’re trying to do. I think… I think he wants to be my Father, to make up for not being there… but I don’t need a Father now… we’re all adults, like it or not.”

“Harry –“ said Hermione.

Draco reached out a consoling hand, but Harry shrugged it off and walked away, his eyes on the fire Hermione had conjured. He had once spoken to Sirius in a fireplace, seeking guidance, but really the only person who had ever been able to help, who had really known the truth about him, was Dumbledore – and he was gone. Nobody spoke, but Harry felt sure that they were looking at each other behind his back, communicating silently. He turned around and caught them all turning hurriedly away from each other.

“I know he’s upset with me now, but Remus will talk him down once he goes back to Hogwarts. I’ll write to him in a few days, once he’s had time to cool off.” Then suddenly his heart lurched as he realised he’d been imagining sending a letter with Hedwig… who was also gone.

To distract himself, Harry picked up the Daily Prophet Sirius had brought, which was still lying on the table, Harry’s own face staring up at the ceiling from the front page. He sat down, opened the paper at random, and pretended to read. He could not take in the words; his mind was still too full of the encounter with Sirius. He wasn’t sure why he had been so against Sirius helping them really, a couple of years ago he would have fallen over himself to have his Godfather by his side. But something about losing Dumbledore had made him feel hard and brittle, he supposed he remembered feeling a little like that after Cedric died, he had pushed people away then too. But this time was different, Dumbledore had made it clear that this was Harry’s job, that the people involved had to be limited. Very limited. Harry just hoped that sending Sirius away had been the right decision.

He was sure that the others had resumed their silent communications on the other side of the Prophet. He turned a page loudly, and Dumbledore’s name leapt out at him. It was a moment or two before he took in the meaning of the photograph, which showed a family group. Beneath the photograph were the words: The Dumbledore family, left to right: Albus; Percival, holding newborn Ariana; Kendra, and Aberforth. His attention caught, Harry examined the picture more carefully. Dumbledore’s father, Percival, was a good-looking man with eyes that seemed to twinkle even in this faded old photograph. The baby, Ariana, was a little longer than a loaf of bread and no more distinctive-looking. The mother, Kendra, had jet black hair pulled into a high bun.

Her face had a carved quality about it. Harry thought of photos of Native Americans he’d seen as he studied her dark eyes, high cheekbones, and straight nose, formally composed above a high-necked silk gown. Albus and Aberforth wore matching lacy collared jackets and had identical, shoulder-length hairstyles. Albus looked several years older, but otherwise the two boys looked very alike, for this was before Albus’s nose had been broken and before he started wearing glasses.

The family looked quite happy and normal, smiling serenely up out of the newspaper. Baby Ariana’s arm waved vaguely out of her shawl. Harry looked above the picture and saw the headline:

EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT FROM UPCOMING

BIOGRAPHY OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

by Rita Skeeter

Thinking it could hardly make him feel any worse than he already did, Harry began to read:Proud and haughty, Kendra Dumbledore could not bear to remain in Mould-on-the-Wold after her husband Percival’s well-publicized arrest and imprisonment in Azkaban. She therefore decided to uproot the family and relocate to Godric’s Hollow, the village that was later to gain fame as the scene of Harry Potter’s strange escape from You-Know-Who.

Like Mould-on-the-Wold, Godric’s Hollow was home to a number of Wizarding families, but as Kendra knew none of them, she would be spared the curiosity about her husband’s crime she had faced in her former village. By repeatedly rebuffing the friendly advances of her new Wizarding neighbors, she soon ensured that her family was left well alone.

“Slammed the door in my face when I went around to welcome her with a batch of homemade Cauldron Cakes,” says Bathilda Bagshot. “The first year they were there I only ever saw the two boys. Wouldn’t have known there was a daughter if I hadn’t been picking Plangentines by moonlight the winter after they moved in, and saw Kendra leading Ariana out into the back garden. Walked her round the lawn once, keeping a firm grip on her, then took her back inside. Didn’t know what to make of it.”

It seems that Kendra thought the move to Godric’s Hollow was the perfect opportunity to hide Ariana once and for all, something she had probably been planning for years. The timing was significant. Ariana was barely seven years old when she vanished from sight, and seven is the age by which most experts agree that magic will have revealed itself, if present. Nobody now alive remembers Ariana ever demonstrating even the slightest sign of magical ability. It seems clear, therefore, that Kendra made a decision to hide her daughter’s existence rather than suffer the shame of admitting that she had produced a Squib. Moving away from the friends and neighbors who knew Ariana would, of course, make imprisoning her all the easier.

The tiny number of people who henceforth knew of Ariana’s existence could be counted upon to keep the secret, including her two brothers, who had deflected awkward questions with the answer their mother had taught them. “My sister is too frail for school.”

Next week: Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts – the Prizes and the Pretence.

Harry had been wrong: What he had read had indeed made him feel worse. He looked back at the photograph of the apparently happy family. Was it true? How could he find out? He wanted to go to Godric’s Hollow, even if Bathilda was in no fit state to talk to him: he wanted to visit the place where he and Dumbledore had both lost loved ones.

He was in the process of lowering the newspaper, to ask the others opinions, when a deafening crack echoed around the kitchen.

For the first time in three days Harry had forgotten all about Kreacher. His immediate thought was that Sirius had burst back into the room, and for a split second, he did not take in the mass of struggling limbs that had appeared out of thin air right beside his chair. He hurried to his feet as Kreacher disentangled himself and, bowing low to Harry, croaked, “Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master.”

Mundungus scrambled up and pulled out his wand; Draco, however, was too quick for him.

“Expelliarmus!” Mundungus’s wand soared into the air, and Hermione caught it. Wild-eyed, Mundungus dived for the stairs. Ron rugby-tackled him and Mundungus hit the stone floor with a muffled crunch.

“What?” he bellowed, writhing in his attempts to free himself from Ron’s grip.

“Wha’ve I done? Setting a bleedin’ ‘house-elf on me, what are you playing at, wha’ve I done, lemme go, lemme go, of – ”

“You’re not in much of a position to make threats,” said Harry. He threw aside the newspaper, crossed the kitchen in a few strides, and dropped to his knees beside Mundungus, who stopped struggling and looked terrified. Ron got up, panting, and watched as Harry pointed his wand deliberately at Mundungus’s nose. Mundungus stank of stale sweat and tobacco smoke. His hair was matted and his robes stained.

“Kreacher apologizes for the delay in bringing the thief, Masters,” croaked the elf. “Fletcher knows how to avoid capture, has many hidey-holes and accomplices. Nevertheless, Kreacher cornered the thief in the end.”

“You’ve done really well, Kreacher,” said Draco, and the elf bowed low.

“Right, we’ve got a few questions for you,” Harry told Mundungus, who shouted at once.

“I panicked, okay? I never wanted to come along, no offence, mate, but I never volunteered to die for you, an’ that was bleedin’ You-Know-Who come flying at me, anyone woulda got outta there. I said all along I didn’t wanna do it –”

“For your information, none of the rest of us Disapparated,” said Hermione.

“Well, you’re a bunch of bleedin’ ‘eroes then, aren’t you, but I never pretended I was up for killing meself –”

“We’re not interested in why you ran out on Mad-Eye,” said Harry, moving his wand a little closer to Mundungus’s baggy, bloodshot eyes. “We already knew you were an unreliable bit of scum.”

“Well then, why the ‘ell am I being ‘unted down by ‘ouse-elves? Or is this about them goblets again? I ain’t got none of ‘em left, or you could ‘ave ‘em –”

“It’s not about the goblets either, although you’re getting warmer,” said Harry. “Shut up and listen.”

It felt wonderful to have something to do, someone of whom he could demand some small portion of truth. Harry’s wand was now so close to the bridge of Mundungus’s nose that Mundungus had gone cross-eyed trying to keep it in view.

“When you cleaned out this house of anything valuable,” Harry began, but Mundungus interrupted him again.

“Sirius never cared about any of the junk –”

There was the sound of pattering feet, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang, and a shriek of agony; Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan.

“Call ‘im off, call ‘im off, ‘e should be locked up!” screamed Mundungus, cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again.

“Kreacher, no!” shouted Harry.

Kreacher’s thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft. “Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?”

Ron laughed.

“We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading, you can do the honours,” said Harry.

“Thank you very much, Master,” said Kreacher with a bow, and he retreated a short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing.

“When you stripped this house of all the valuables you could find,” Harry began again, “you took a bunch of stuff from the kitchen cupboard. There was a locket there.”

Harry’s mouth was suddenly dry: He could sense the other’s tension and excitement too. “What did you do with it?”

“Why?” asked Mundungus. “Is it valuable?”

“You’ve still got it!” cried Hermione.

“No, he hasn’t,” said Draco shrewdly. “He’s wondering whether he should have asked more money for it.”

“More?” said Mundungus. “That wouldn’t have been effing difficult . . .bleedin’ gave it away, di’n’ I? No choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was selling in Diagon Alley and she come up to me and asks if I’ve got a license for trading in magical artifacts. Bleedin’ snoop. She was gonna fine me, but she took a fancy to the locket an’ told me she’d take it and let me off that time, and to fink meself lucky.”

“Who was this woman?” asked Harry.

“I dunno, some Ministry hag.” Mundungus considered for a moment, brow wrinkled. “Little woman. Bow on top of ‘er head.” He frowned and then added, “Looked like a toad.”

They all looked at one another.

“Could it be that woman who inspected the school? She looked a bit like a toad.” asked Draco.

Hermione, the only other one there who had been at the trial looked thoughtful. “I suppose, but there must be loads of Ministry people we’ve never even seen.”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Harry. “It’s somewhere to start at least.”


	4. An Unexpected Trip (Magic is Might)

As August wore on, the square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place shrivelled in the sun until it was brittle and brown. The inhabitants of number twelve were never seen by anyone in the surrounding houses, and nor was number twelve itself. The muggles who lived in Grimmauld Place had long since accepted the amusing mistake in the numbering that had caused number eleven to sit beside number thirteen.

And yet the square was now attracting a trickle of visitors who seemed to find the anomaly most intriguing. Barely a day passed without one or two people arriving in Grimmauld Place with no other purpose, or so it seemed, than to lean against the railings facing numbers eleven and thirteen, watching the join between the two houses. The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear cloaks in this heat.

The watchers seemed to be gleaning little satisfaction from their vigil.

Occasionally one of them started forward excitedly, as if they had seen something interesting at last, only to fall back looking disappointed.

On the first day of September there were more people lurking in the square than ever before. Half a dozen men in long cloaks stood silent and watchful, gazing as ever at houses eleven and thirteen, but the thing for which they were waiting still appeared elusive. As evening drew in, bringing with it an unexpected gust of chilly rain for the first time in weeks, there occurred one of those inexplicable moments when they appeared to have seen something interesting. The man with the twisted face pointed and his closest companion, a podgy, pallid man, started forward, but a moment later they had relaxed into their previous state of inactivity, looking frustrated and disappointed.

Meanwhile, inside number twelve, Harry had just entered the hall. He had nearly lost his balance as he Apparated onto the top step just outside the front door, and thought that the Death Eaters might have caught a glimpse of his momentarily exposed elbow.

Shutting the front door carefully behind him, he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, draped it over his arm, and hurried along the gloomy hallway toward the door that led to the basement, a stolen copy of the _Daily Prophet_ clutched in his hand.

He waited until he was halfway down the stairs to the kitchen, out of earshot of Mrs. Black, before calling, “I’ve got news, and you won’t like it.”

The kitchen was almost unrecognisable. Every surface now shone; Copper pots and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow; the wooden tabletop gleamed; the goblets and plates already laid for dinner glinted in the light from a merrily blazing fire, on which a cauldron was simmering. Nothing in the room, however, was more dramatically different than the house-elf who now came hurrying toward Harry, dressed in a snowy-white towel, his ear hair as clean and fluffy as cotton wool, Regulus’s locket bouncing on his thin chest.

“Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry, and hands washed before dinner,” croaked Kreacher, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and slouching off to hang it on a hook on the wall, beside a number of old-fashioned robes that had been freshly laundered.

“What’s happened?” Draco asked apprehensively. He, Ron and Hermione had been pouring over a sheaf of scribbled notes and hand drawn maps that littered the end of the long kitchen table, but now they watched Harry as he strode toward them and threw down the newspaper on top of their scattered parchment.

“No point keeping on watching the Ministry for her,” Harry said flatly.

A large picture of a vaguely familiar, plump, smug looking woman with a bow in her hair stared up at them all, beneath a headline that read:

**DOLORES UMBRIDGE: NEW HEADMISTRESS OF HOGWARTS**

Hermione snatched up the newspaper and began to read the accompanying story out loud.

“ D _ olores Umbridge _ _ , long-standing  _ _ assistant to the Minister for Magic _ _ , was today appointed headm _ _ istress _ _ in the most important of several staffing changes at the ancient school. Following the resignation of the previous Muggle Studies teacher, Alecto Carrow will take over the post while her brother, Amycus, fills the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.  _ _ Horace Slughorn has returned to his retirement and Severus Snape will once more take up his old position as Potions teacher. _ _ ” _

“ ‘ _I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest Wizarding traditions and values_

–‘That awful Ministry toady in Dumbledore’s study, you know she was the worst of them all at Sirius’s trial, with her stupid hem hem hem, and if she’s been given a position this high by You-Know-Who’s Ministry shill then she must be in league with them – Merlin’s pants!” she shrieked, making them all jump. She leapt up from the table and hurtled from the room, shouting as she went, “I’ll be back in a minute!”

“’Merlin’s pants’?” repeated Draco, looking amused. “She must be upset.” 

Ron pulled the newspaper toward him and perused the article. “The other teachers will make sure everything’s all right won’t they? McGonagall and Flitwick and all that. And Sirius will be there with Remus, did he write back yet?”

“No, but Remus did. Says he’s still sulking, but that he’s making himself useful going between the school and the rest of the Order,” answered Harry. “He didn’t say anything about the new teachers though, mind you he might not have known yet.”

“Hmm,” said Ron. “Who are these Carrows anyway?”

“Death Eaters,” said Harry. “There are pictures of them inside. They were at the top of the tower when Pansy Parkinson killed Dumbledore. But I reckon you’re right, the other teachers will try and protect the students.”

“I’m more worried about Snape,” said Draco. “It can’t be very safe for him to stay on at the school now, with Dumbledore gone. He’s the one who ought to leave.”

“He’s too loyal,” said Harry. “He’d never just leave Hogwarts to the Death Eaters unless he had no other choice.”

Kreacher came bustling to the table with a large tureen in his hands, and ladled out soup into pristine bowls, whistling between his teeth as he did so.

“Thanks, Kreacher,” said Harry, flipping over the _Prophet_ so as not to have to look at Umbridge’s self-satisfied face.

He began to spoon soup into his mouth. The quality of Kreacher’s cooking had improved dramatically ever since he had been given Regulus’s locket: Today’s French onion was as good as Harry had ever tasted.

“There are still a load of Death Eaters watching this house,” he told them as he ate, “more than usual. It’s like they’re hoping we’ll march out carrying our school trunks and head off for the Hogwarts Express.”

Ron glanced at his watch. “I’ve been thinking about that all day. It left nearly six hours ago. Weird, not being on it, isn’t it?”

In his mind’s eye Harry seemed to see the scarlet steam engine as he and Ron had once followed it by air, shimmering between fields and hills, a rippling scarlet caterpillar.

He was sure Ginny, Neville, and Luna were sitting together at this moment, perhaps wondering where he, Draco, Ron, and Hermione were, or debating how best to undermine the new regime.

“They nearly saw me coming back in just now,” Harry said, “I landed badly on the top step, and the Cloak slipped.”

“I do that every time. Oh, here she is,” Ron added, craning around in his seat to watch Hermione re-entering the kitchen. “And what in the name of Merlin’s most baggy Y Fronts was that about?”

“I remembered this,” Hermione panted.

She was carrying a large, framed picture, which she now lowered to the floor before seizing her small, beaded bag from the kitchen sideboard. Opening it, she proceeded to force the painting inside and despite the fact that it was patently too large to fit inside the tiny bag, within a few seconds it had vanished, like so much ease, into the bag’s capacious depths.

“Phineas Nigellus,” Hermione explained as she threw the bag onto the kitchen table with the usual sonorous, clanking crash.

“Sorry?” said Ron, but Harry understood. The painted image of Phineas Nigellus Black was able to travel between his portrait in Grimmauld Place and the one that hung in the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts: the circular tower-top room where Umbridge was no doubt sitting right now, in triumphant possession of Dumbledore’s collection of delicate, silver magical instruments, the stone Pensieve, the Sorting Hat and, unless it had been moved elsewhere, the sword of Gryffindor.

“Umbridge or the Carrows could try to send Phineas Nigellus to look inside this house for them,” Hermione explained to Ron as she resumed her seat. “But let them try it now, all Phineas Nigellus will be able to see is the inside of my handbag.”

“Good thinking!” said Ron, looking impressed.

“We should let Snape know about that too, maybe they could smuggle the painting out of the Headmistresses office,” suggested Draco.

“Good idea,” smiled Hermione, pulling her soup toward her. “So, Harry, what else happened today?”

“Nothing,” said Harry. “Watched the Ministry entrance for seven hours. No sign of her, guess we know why now. Saw Percy though, Ron. He looks fine.”

Ron nodded his appreciation of this news. The had agreed that it was far too dangerous to try and communicate with Percy while he walked in and out of the Ministry, because he was always surrounded by other Ministry workers. It was, however, reassuring to catch these glimpses of him, even if he did look very strained and anxious.

“Percy always told us most Ministry people use the Floo Network to get to work,” Ron said. “That’s why I thought we haven’t seen Umbridge, but if she’s taking over Hogwarts she’ll be there by now, might have been there for ages.”

“She can’t have been,” said Harry. “Remus would have told us.”

“But we are going to have to completely rethink the plan,” said Draco. “Though at least we know Hogwarts much better than we know the Ministry.”

“I think we should do it tomorrow, before everyone gets settled down,” said Harry.

Hermione stopped dead, her jaw hanging; Ron choked a little over his soup.

“Tomorrow?” repeated Hermione. “You aren’t serious, Harry?”

“I am,” said Harry. “I don’t think we’re going to be much better prepared than we are now. The longer we put it off, the less certain we can be that she still has it and the better she and the other Death Eaters will know the school. There’s already a good chance she’s chucked it away; the thing doesn’t open.”

“Unless,” said Ron, “she’s found a way of opening it and she’s now possessed.”

Hermione was biting her lip, deep in thought.

“We know everything important,” Harry went on, addressing Hermione. “We know everything there is about the school, and we can send a letter to Professor Lupin to arrange for disguises and the Marauders Map –“

“I don’t know, Harry, I don’t know … There are an awful lot of things that could go wrong, we’ve been expecting to go into the Ministry this whole time … “

“It’s time to act,” said Draco impatiently. “We can’t keep wasting our time on the locket when there are so many other Horcruxes to find and destroy. Let’s just get this one done.”

“All right,” said Ron slowly, “let’s say we go for it tomorrow … I think it should just be me and Harry.”

“No it should be me and Harry,” said Draco.

“Oh, don’t start that again!” sighed Hermione. “I thought we’d settled this.”

“It’s one thing doing a bit of reconnaissance under the Cloak, but this is different. Hermione,” Ron jabbed a finger at a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ dated ten days previously. “You’re on the list of Muggle-borns who didn’t present themselves for interrogation!”

“And you’re supposed to be dying of spattergroit at the Burrow! If anyone shouldn’t go, it’s Harry, he’s got a ten-thousand-Galleon price on his head – “

“Fine, I’ll stay here,” said Harry. “Let me know if you ever defeat Voldemort, won’t you?”

As Draco scowled, and Ron and Hermione laughed, pain shot through the scar on Harry’s forehead.

His hand jumped to it. He saw Draco’s eyes narrow, and he tried to pass off the movement by brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Well, if all four of us go we’ll have to Disapparate separately,” Ron was saying. “We can’t all fit under the Cloak.”

Harry’s scar was becoming more and more painful. He stood up. At once, Kreacher hurried forward.

“Master has not finished his soup, would master prefer the savoury stew, or else the treacle tart to which Master is so partial?”

“Thanks, Kreacher, but I’ll be back in a minute – er – bathroom.”

Aware that Hermione and Draco were watching him suspiciously, Harry hurried up the stairs to the hall and then to the first landing, where he dashed into the bathroom and bolted the door again. Grunting with pain, he slumped over the black basin with its taps in the form of open-mouthed serpents and closed his eyes ….

He was gliding along a twilit street. The buildings on either side of him had high, timbered gables; they looked like gingerbread houses. He approached one of them, then saw the whiteness of his own long-fingered hand against the door. He knocked. He felt a mounting excitement …

The door opened: A laughing woman stood there. Her face fell as she looked into Harry’s face: humour gone, terror replacing it ….

“Gregorovitch?” said a high, cold voice.

She shook her head: She was trying to close the door. A white hand held it steady, prevented her shutting him out …

“I want Gregorovitch.”

“ _Er wohnt hier nicht mehr!_ ” she cried, shaking her head. “He no live here! He no live here! I know him not!”

Abandoning the attempt to close the door, she began to back away down the dark hall, and Harry followed, gliding toward her, and his long-fingered hand had drawn his wand.

“Where is he?”

“ _Das weiff ich nicht!_ He move! I know not, I know not!”

He raised his hand. She screamed. Two young children came running into the hall.

She tried to shield them with her arms. There was a flash of green light –

“Harry! HARRY!”

He opened his eyes; he had sunk to the floor. Draco was pounding on the door again.

“Harry, open up!”

He had shouted out, he knew it. He got up and unbolted the door; Draco toppled inside at once, regained his balance, and looked around suspiciously. Ron and Hermione were right behind him, looking unnerved as they pointed their wands into the corners of the chilly bathroom.

“What were you doing?” asked Draco sternly.

“What d’you think I was doing?” asked Harry with feeble bravado.

“You were yelling your head off!” said Ron.

“Oh yeah … I must’ve dozed off or – “

“Harry, please don’t insult our intelligence,” said Hermione, taking deep breaths. “We know your scar hurt downstairs, and you’re white as a sheet.”

Harry sat down on the edge of the bath.

“Fine. I’ve just seen Voldemort murdering a woman. By now he’s probably killed her whole family. And he didn’t need to. It was Cedric all over again, they were just _there_ … “

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to let this happen anymore!” Hermione cried, her voice echoing through the bathroom. 

Draco agreed with her.  “ Snape wanted you to use Occlumency!  Dumbledore thought the connection was dangerous – Voldemort can  _ use  _ it, Harry!”

“What good is it to watch him kill and torture, how can it help?”  continued Hermione.

“ Because it means I know what he’s doing,” said Harry.

“So you’re not even going to _try_ to shut him out?” growled Draco.

“I can’t. You know I’m lousy at Occlumency. I just never got the hang of it.”

“That’s rubbish!” he said hotly. “We know you can do it when you want to. I don’t get it, Harry – do you _l_ _i_ _ke_ having a special connection to a psychopath – “

He faltered under the look Harry gave him as he stood up.

“Like it?” he said quietly. “You of all people know I don’t like it!”

“Harry. I didn’t mean – “

“I hate it, I hate the fact that he can get inside me, that I end up watching him when he’s most dangerous. But I’m going to use it.”

“Dumbledore–“ started Hermione.

“Forget Dumbledore. This is my choice, nobody else’s. I want to know why he’s after Gregorovitch.”

“Who?”

“He’s a foreign wandmaker,” said Harry. “He made Krum’s wand and Krum reckons he’s brilliant.”

“But according to you,” said Ron, “Voldemort’s got Ollivander locked up somewhere. If he’s already got a wandmaker, what does he need another one for?”

“Maybe he agrees with Krum, maybe he thinks Gregorovitch is better … or else he thinks Gregorovitch will be able to explain what my wand did when he was chasing me, because Ollivander didn’t know.”

Harry glanced into the cracked, dusty mirror and saw Draco and Hermione exchanging sceptical looks behind his back.

“Harry, you keep talking about what your wand did,” said Hermione, “but _you_ made it happen! Why are you so determined not to take responsibility for your own power?”

“Because I know it wasn’t me! And so does Voldemort, Hermione! We both know what really happened!”

They glared at each other; Harry knew that he had not convinced Hermione and that she and Draco were marshalling counterarguments, against both his theory on his wand and the fact that he was permitting himself to see into Voldemort’s mind. To his relief, Ron intervened.

“Drop it,” he advised them. “It’s up to him. And if we’re going to Hogwarts tomorrow, don’t you reckon we should go over the plan?”

Reluctantly, as the other two could tell, Hermione and Draco let the matter rest, though Harry was quite sure Hermione would attack again at the first opportunity. In the meantime, they returned to the basement kitchen, where Kreacher served them all stew and treacle tart.

They did not get to bed until late that night, after spending hours going over and over their new plan until they could recite it, word perfect, to each other. Harry, who was now sleeping in Sirius’s old room with Draco, lay in bed with his wandlight trained on the old photograph of his father, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew, and muttered the plan to himself for another ten minutes. As he extinguished his wand, however, he was thinking not of Hogwarts or Umbridge or the secret passage from Honeydukes; he thought of Gregorovitch the wandmaker, and how long he could hope to remain hidden while Voldemort sought him so determinedly.

Dawn seemed to follow midnight with indecent haste.

“You look terrible,” was Draco’s greeting as he poked Harry awake.

“Thanks,” said Harry, yawning.

They found Hermione downstairs in the kitchen. She was being served coffee and hot rolls by Kreacher and wearing the slightly manic expression that Harry associated with exam review.

“School robes,” she said under her breath, acknowledging their presence with a nervous nod and continuing to poke around in her beaded bag, “Polyjuice Potion … Invisibility Cloak … Decoy Detonators … You should each take a couple just in case … Puking Pastilles, Nosebleed Nougat, Extendible Ears …”

They gulped down their breakfast, then set off upstairs, Kreacher bowing them out and promising to have a steak-and-kidney pie ready for them when they returned.

They made their way onto the front step with immense caution. They could see a couple of puffy-eyed Death Eaters watching the house from across the misty square.

Hermione Disapparated with Ron first, then came back with the cloak and took Draco, who came back with the cloak, pulled Harry closer and they were gone too.

After the usual brief spell of darkness and near suffocation, Harry found himself in the alley behind Honeydukes, it was only just dawn and everything was still and quiet.

One by one he smuggled the others into the shop under his cloak and down the stairs to the passage that led to the one-eyed witch statue. It would be tricky floating everyone up the slide at the other end, but they didn’t want to risk having to cross the grounds from the Whomping Willow.

When they reached the bottom of the slide Neville and Ginny were there waiting for them as planned.

“So what are we looking for?” Ginny asked as Neville passed clumps of hair to Hermione one by one as she laid out the four vials of polyjuice potion she had made for them to go undercover at the Ministry. Instead they would be disguising themselves as Neville, Ginny, Seamus and... Luna.

“Oh no, no way,” said Draco, as Harry pointedly didn’t answer the question. “Why do I have to be a girl again? Make Weasley take that one.”

But Ron had already swallowed the vial with Seamus’ hair in it, and Harry the one with Neville’s.

“I could just wear the invisibility cloak,” he bargained.

“We need that for Ginny and Neville,” said Hermione.

“I swear you’re doing this on purpose,” Draco muttered, giving Hermione the evil eye, before downing his potion.

Hermione swallowed hers last and Neville helped spell them all up the slide after they had adjusted their robes to their new bodies. Ginny and Neville slung the invisibility cloak over themselves and Harry double checked the Map to see who was about.

Breakfast wasn’t due to start for another hour and with no classes until tomorrow the school was relatively quiet.

They made their way quietly towards Professor Umbridge’s quarters. Harry had been very pleased to hear that the Headmaster’s office had refused to allow the new Headmistress to enter, and she had had to settle for different rooms.

The map showed that Professor Umbridge had been awoken early, as planned, by Sirius and Lupin, to attend to an apparent act of vandalism at the opposite end of the castle to her rooms. As they approached their destination, Neville and Ginny slowed down with the Map to keep an eye out as the others approached the door.

“If we’re lucky,” whispered Hermione. “She won’t have had time to cast many wards before going, since she had just been woken up.”

“If we’re lucky,” muttered Draco in Luna’s airy voice, his cynicism sounding particularly out of place.

Then they ground to a sudden halt and ducked backwards again in shock.

Mounted on the door of Umbridge’s office was a large, round eye with a bright blue iris that was shockingly familiar to anybody who had known Alastor Moody.

“Well, that’s new,” said Ginny from behind them.

“Can she see us?” asked Ron.

“Dunno,” whispered Harry. “Hold on, give me the cloak.”

With a bit of rearrangement Harry proceeded alone and invisible around the corner, leaving two visible Ginny’s behind him, which would no doubt be a bit confusing should someone show up right then, but the Map showed no one nearby.

He quickly cast the ward detection spells Draco and Hermione had taught him and, confident he was safe, he placed his hand cautiously on the door knob. The door was locked, but a quick Alohomora dealt with that and he was inside.

Lace draperies, doilies and dried flowers seemed to cover every available surface inside the room. The walls bore ornamental plates, each featuring a highly coloured, beribboned kitten, gambolling and frisking with sickening cuteness. The desk was covered with a flouncy, flowered cloth. Behind Mad Eye’s eye, a telescope attachment reached out, suggesting she had to peer through it to see through the door using the eye. Harry took a look through himself and it showed only the empty corridor. He wrenched the telescope out of the door, leaving a hole behind, pulled the magical eyeball out of it and placed it in his pocket. Then he turned to face the room again, raised his wand and murmured, “Accio locket.”

Nothing happened, but he had not expected it to; no doubt Umbridge knew all about protective charms and spells. He stuck his head out the door and whispered, “All clear, come help me look.”

Ginny and Neville took back the cloak, and Ron, Hermione and Draco joined him in the cramped office. Ron looking positively horrified at the décor.

They began to turn out drawers. They saw quills and notebooks and Spellotape; enchanted paper clips that coiled snake-like from their drawer and had to be beaten back; a fussy little lace box full of spare hair bows and clips; a box with a particularly nasty looking thin black quill with an unusually sharp point; but no sign of a locket.

As Ron, Draco and Hermione searched the sitting room and bedroom that were behind the office, Harry began looking through a filing cabinet full of folders, each labelled with a name. It was not until Harry saw the label Hermione Granger that he was tempted to actually open one of them.

HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER

_Blood status: Muggle-born._

_Family: Parents exact location currently unknown, suspected to be in Australia. No siblings. No magical relatives at all!_

_Security status: Missing, any sighting or other information to be reported to the Muggle-born Registration Commission immediately. Suspected of being in the company of Undesirable No. 1, known associate. Detain on sight._

“Undesirable Number One,” Harry muttered under his breath as he put the folder back and shut the drawer. He had an idea he knew who that was, and sure enough, as he straightened up and glanced around the office for fresh hiding places, he saw a poster of himself on the wall, with the words UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 emblazoned across his chest. A little pink note was stuck to it, with a picture of a kitten in the corner. Written in tiny looping handwriting were the words, ‘To be punished’.

Harry rolled his eyes and proceeded to grope in the bottoms of the vases and baskets of dried flowers, but was not at all surprised that the locket was not there.

He went over to the sitting room door and stuck his head in. “Any luck?”

Seamus, or rather Ron, was sat on the sofa feeling under the cushions, “Nah, mate.”

He passed into the bedroom, Hermione looked up from a vanity with Ginny’s face. “I don’t think it’s in here.”

Harry looked around and his heart skipped a beat, Dumbledore was staring at him from a small rectangular mirror on the bedside table. He crossed the room quickly with an audible gasp, causing Draco to stick Luna’s head out of the bathroom to see what was wrong. But Harry realised the moment he touched it that it was not a mirror at all, Dumbledore was smiling wistfully out of the front cover of a glossy book. Harry had not immediately noticed the curly, green writing across his hat: The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, nor the slightly smaller writing across his chest: by Rita Skeeter, bestselling author of Armando Dippet: Master or Moron?

“I think Hermione’s right,” Draco said as Harry put the book back down. “She must have the locket on her.”

“Damn it,” said Harry. “Come on then.”

They all exited the rooms, chucking some dungbombs into the office behind them to hopefully make any sign they had been in there look more like a simple prank. Hermione gave Harry a suspicious look at the state of the door, but he just shrugged.

They met back up with Neville and Ginny to recheck the map. Umbridge and Lupin were walking towards the Great Hall. Sirius was heading upstairs towards them, presumably to see how they were going. Although there were a few students up and about now, Seamus and Luna were still in their beds as promised, they would stay there until Neville and Ginny could give them the all clear.

“What are we going to do?” said Hermione plaintively.

“We go and get it!” said Harry.

“What? But...”

“Get what?” asked Ginny.

“Neville, Ginny, head back to your dorms and stay put, see if you can’t bump into Sirius on the way and tell him the office was a bust. We’ll take the invisibility cloak and the map now. We’ll leave the map in the passage when we go so you can get it back.”

“All right,” said Ginny. “But I still don’t even know what we’re actually trying to do.”

“I know. Make sure you’re seen by a teacher if you can, just in case you need an alibi.”

Ginny sighed and nodded, heading off with Neville in tow, even as Hermione said. “An alibi?”

“Just in case,” said Harry, and swung the cloak back around himself. “You guys watch the map, if there’s any risk you’re going to be seen by anyone but Remus or Sirius then get out of the way. The polyjuice is all very well for making sure no one knows we were in the school, but it’s not much help if it gets one of our friends into trouble for what we’ve done.”

“And what is it we’re going to do,” said Draco, as they followed behind Harry at speed.

“I’m going to get this over and done with,” said Harry. “Are we still clear?”

“We’re going to bump into them any minute,” hissed Hermione. “but there’s no one else around yet.”

“Stay here.” Harry strode ahead.

Rounding the corner he saw a very sour faced looking Dolores Umbridge bustling down the corridor towards him, he could just make out a glint of gold chain at her neck, but whatever hung on it was hidden inside her robes.

Remus was walking more slowly some way behind her, keeping her in sight but not wanting or welcome to be in her company.

Harry stepped to the side to let her pass and as soon as she had he pointed his wand and hissed, “Stupefy.”

She dropped to the ground like a stone.

Remus cried out in surprise and began to run forward. Harry stopped him with a hand and a hissed, “It’s me.”

Remus looked startled but bit back an exclamation. “Harry?” he whispered.

“Go back around the corner, count to ten and then run around it and act as if you just spotted her on the floor. Shout for help or something, make it convincing,” Harry whispered.

“Are you… All right, yes,” said Remus, and did as he was told.

Harry quickly went to the fallen witch and yanked the gold chain around, on it hung a golden locket with an S picked out in emeralds. He quickly undid it and stuffed it into the moleskin bag that hung around his neck.

“Hurry up.”

Harry glanced up and saw Luna, or rather Draco, peering around the corner.

“One of the Carrows is coming.”

Harry hurried back to them. Ron’s hair was starting to turn a bit red again, his hair seemed to be particularly resistant to polyjuice, always coming back just a bit sooner than should be expected.

“Can we...” he started.

“No,” sighed Hermione, quickly thrusting the map at Ron, who grabbed it looking confused. “Quick, Ron’s hair’s showing and we can’t get Luna in trouble.”

Harry pushed Draco towards Ron and threw the cloak over the two of them.

Alecto Carrow turned the corner and stopped as she saw what she assumed to be Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Fortunately Hermione had continued to think quickly and as soon as Harry had turned around from concealing Draco and Ron she had thrown herself at him, pushing him against the far wall and kissing him passionately.

Harry was extremely startled, and only barely managed to stop himself from pushing her away again when she stuck her tongue in his mouth.

Alecto Carrow had stopped immediately, an unpleasant look of amusement crossing her face. She was just drawing her wand when Harry heard Remus shout from around the corner. “Headmistress! Headmistress are you all right?”

Carrow immediately looked towards the voice, surprised, and ran past the kissing teenagers to see what was happening.

“You can stop that now!” Draco hissed, appearing out from under the cloak looking furious.

But Hermione was already pulling away with an embarrassing wet noise, and gesturing for them to follow her. “Let’s go.”

They ran down the halls towards the entry to the passage behind the one eyed witch, not stopping to look at the Map until they got there. They had run past a couple of students, but thankfully no other teachers.

They took no extra time in opening up the tunnel and getting themselves safely inside. As soon as they were sealed away Hermione turned bright red as they all turned to stare at her.

“Sorry about that,” she said, putting her hand over her own mouth. “I just thought we would be less suspicious if we were… you know.”

“Shoving your tongue down his throat!” said Ron angrily.

Ignoring them both, Draco looked to Harry, speaking in a strange flat mix of his own and Luna’s voice. “Did we get it?”

Harry’s hand went to the moleskin pouch. “We got it.”

Feeling accomplished despite the angry looks from Draco and Ron, they exited Honeydukes as they had come in and found themselves on the streets of Hogsmeade again. The Polyjuice potion was wearing off in patches; Ron still looked exactly like Seamus Finnegan, but with red hair, Draco looked like Luna but with a short bob, and he had grown back to his own height and spoke with his own voice, Harry still looked like Neville except that his scar was reappearing, and Hermione’s body seemed to have rejected the Polyjuice all in one go, as she looked exactly like herself again.

“You didn’t have to look like you were enjoying it so much,” Ron was still complaining quietly to her, when she suddenly stopped walking and gasped.

Nearby there was a shout, “That’s one of them, grab her!”

She spun around reaching out for them and they instinctively crowded close.

“Let’s go!” Harry yelled. He seized Hermione by the hand and Draco by the arm and felt Ron grab him by the shirt and turned on the spot.

Darkness engulfed them along with the sensation of compressing bands, but something was wrong… Hermione’s hand seemed to be sliding out of his grip…

He wondered whether he was going to suffocate, he could not breathe or see and the only solid things in the world were Draco’s arm and Hermione’s fingers, which were slowly slipping away…

And then he saw the door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, with its serpent doorknocker, but before he could draw breath there was a scream and a flash of purple light; Hermione’s hand was suddenly vice-like upon his and everything went dark again.

  



	5. The Goblin's Revenge

Early next morning, before the other three were awake, Harry left the tent to search the woods around them for the oldest, most gnarled, and resilient-looking tree he could find. There in its shadows he buried Mad-Eye Moody's eye and marked the spot by gouging a small cross in the bark with his wand. It was not much, but Harry felt that Mad-Eye would have much preferred this to being stuck on Dolores Umbridge's door. Then he returned to the tent to wait for the others to wake, and discuss what they were going to do next.

Harry, Draco and Hermione felt that it was best not to stay anywhere too long, and Ron agreed, with the sole proviso that their next move took them within reach of a bacon sandwich. Hermione therefore removed the enchantments she had placed around the clearing, while Draco packed away their stuff and Harry and Ron obliterated all the marks and impressions on the ground that might show they had camped there. Then they Disapparated to the outskirts of a small market town.

Once they had pitched the tent in the shelter of a small copse of trees and surrounded it with freshly cast defensive enchantments. Harry ventured out under the Invisibility Cloak to find sustenance. This, however, did not go as planned. He had barely entered the town when an unnatural chill, a descending mist, and a sudden darkening of the skies made him freeze where he stood.

"But you can make a brilliant Patronus!" protested Ron, when Harry arrived back at the tent empty handed, out of breath, and mouthing the single word, dementors.

"I couldn't . . . make one." he panted, clutching the stitch in his side. "Wouldn't . . . come."

Draco tried to persuade him to lie down for a bit, but their expressions of consternation and disappointment made Harry feel ashamed. It had been a nightmarish experience, seeing the dementors gliding out of the mist in the distance and realizing, as the paralysing cold choked his lungs and a distant screaming filled his ears, that he was not going to be able to protect himself. It had taken all Harry's willpower to uproot himself from the spot and run, leaving the eyeless dementors to glide amongst the Muggles who might not be able to see them, but would assuredly feel the despair they cast wherever they went.

"So we still haven't got any food."

"Shut up, Ron," snapped Hermione. "Harry, what happened? Why do you think you couldn't make your Patronus? You haven’t had problems with it since third year."

"I don't know."

“Leave him be,” said Draco.

He sat low in one of Perkins's old armchairs, feeling more humiliated by the moment. He was afraid that something had gone wrong inside him. Everything had gone so well at Hogwarts, but today he might have been thirteen years old again, the only one who collapsed on the Hogwarts Express.

Ron kicked a chair leg.

"What?" he snarled at Hermione and Draco. "I'm starving! All I've had since I bled half to death is a couple of toadstools!"

"You go and fight your way through the dementors, then," said Harry, stung.

"I would, but my arm's in a sling, in case you hadn't noticed!"

"That's convenient."

"And what's that supposed to — ?"

"Of course!" cried Hermione, clapping a hand to her forehead and startling both of them into silence. "Harry, give me the locket! Come on," she said impatiently, clicking her fingers at him when he did not react, "The Horcrux, Harry, you're still wearing it!"

She held out her hands, and Harry lifted the golden chain over his head. The moment it parted contact with Harry's skin he free and oddly light. He had not even realized that he was clammy or that there was a heavy weight pressing on his stomach until both sensations lifted.

"Better?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah, loads better!"

"Harry," she said, crouching down in front of him and using the kind of voice he associated with visiting the very sick, "you don't think you've been possessed, do you?"

"What? No!" he said defensively, "I remember everything we've done while I've been wearing it. I wouldn't know what I'd done if I'd been possessed, would I? Ginny told me there were times when she couldn't remember anything."

Draco rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath at the mention of Ginny, it had been a sore point ever since Ginny had kissed him, and Hermione kissing him while wearing Ginny’s body had opened the issue up all over again.

"Hmm," said Hermione, looking down at the heavy locket. "Well, maybe we ought not to wear it. We can just keep it in the tent."

"We are not leaving that Horcrux lying around," Harry stated firmly. "If we lose it, if it gets stolen—"

"Oh, all right, all right," said Hermione, and she placed it around her own neck and tucked it out of sight down the front of her shirt. "But we'll take turns wearing it, so nobody keeps it on too long."

"Great," said Ron irritably, "and now we've sorted that out, can we please get some food?"

"Fine, but we'll go somewhere else to find it," said Hermione with half a glance at Harry. "There's no point staying where we know dementors are swooping around."

In the end they settled down for the night in a far flung field belonging to a lonely farm, from which they had managed to obtain eggs and bread.

"It's not stealing, is it?" asked Hermione in a troubled voice, as they devoured scrambled eggs on toast. "Not if I left some money under the chicken coop?"

“As if they’ll even notice,” said Draco.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” snapped Hermione. “Cause they’re Muggles?”

Draco started to retort, but before he could Ron rolled his eyes and said, with his cheeks bulging, "Er-my-nee, 'oo worry 'oo much. 'Elax!"

And, indeed, it was much easier to relax when they were comfortably well fed.

The arguments were forgotten in laughter that night, and Harry felt cheerful, even hopeful, as he took the first of the three night watches.

This was their first encounter with the fact that a full stomach meant good spirits, an empty one, bickering and gloom. Harry was least surprised by this, because he had often suffered periods of near starvation at the Dursleys’. Hermione bore up reasonably well on those nights when they managed to scavenge nothing but berries or stale biscuits, her temper perhaps a little shorter than usual and her silences dour. Draco was quieter than the rest most of the time anyway so it could be hard to tell when he was feeling out of sorts, which sometimes worried Harry. He did get noticeable more sarcastic when he was hungry though and could be particularly cynical when wearing the Horcrux. Which tended to set off Ron, actually everything tended to set off Ron, who had always been used to three delicious meals a day, courtesy of his mother or of the Hogwarts house-elves, and hunger made him both unreasonable and irascible. And whenever lack of food coincided with Ron's turn to wear the Horcrux, he became downright unpleasant.

"So where next?" was his constant refrain. He did not seem to have any ideas himself, but expected Harry, Draco and Hermione to come up with plans while he sat and brooded over the low food supplies. Accordingly the three of them spent fruitless hours trying to decide where they might find the other Horcruxes, and how to destroy the one they had already found, their conversations becoming increasingly repetitive as they had no new information to go on.

As Dumbledore had told Harry that be believed Voldemort had hidden the Horcruxes in places important to him, they kept reciting, in a sort of dreary litany, those locations they knew that Voldemort had lived or visited. The orphanage where he had been born and raised: Hogwarts, where he had been educated; Borgin and Burkes, where he had worked after completing school; then Albania, where he had spent his years of exile: These formed the basis of their speculations.

"Yeah, let's go to Albania. Shouldn't take more than an afternoon to search an entire country," said Ron sarcastically.

"There can't be anything there. He'd already made five of his Horcruxes before he went into exile, and Dumbledore was certain the snake is the sixth," said Hermione. "We know the snake's not in Albania, it's usually with Vol—"

"Didn't I ask you to stop say that?"

"Fine! The snake is usually with You-Know-Who—happy?"

"Not particularly."

"I can't see him hiding anything at Borgin and Burkes." said Harry, who had made this point many times before, but said it again simply to break the nasty silence. "Borgin and Burke were experts at Dark objects, they would've recognized a Horcrux straight away."

“I agree with Harry,” said Draco in a monotone. He was becoming less and less involved as he found the constant mention of Voldemort brought back too many bad memories, and he often left half way through discussions to stand guard or go to the bathroom or look for food. Not that he seemed to actually do any of these things, he would just disappear outside (if they were in) or inside (if they were out) for an hour or so, and come back seeming even more disconnected than before.

Ron yawned pointedly.

Repressing a strong urge to throw something at him, Harry ploughed on, "I still reckon he might have hidden something at Hogwarts. We should have spent more time there when we were getting the locket. Searched the place properly."

Hermione sighed. "But Dumbledore would have found it, Harry!"

Harry repeated the argument he kept bringing out in favour of this theory. "Dumbledore said in front of me that he never assumed he knew all of Hogwart's secrets. I'm telling you, if there was one place Vol—"

"Oi!"

"YOU-KNOW-WHO, then!" Harry shouted, goaded past endurance. "If there was one place that was really important to You-Know-Who, it was Hogwarts!"

"Oh, come on," scoffed Ron. "His school?"

"Yeah, his school! It was his first real home, the place that meant he was special: it meant everything to him, and even after he left—"

Draco muttered something about going outside, and left the tent as they continued to argue.

"This is You-Know-Who we're talking about, right? Not you?" inquired Ron. He was tugging at the chain of the Horcrux around his neck; Harry was visited by a desire to seize it and throttle him.

"You told us that You-Know-Who asked Dumbledore to give him a job after he left," said Hermione.

"That's right," said Harry.

"And Dumbledore thought he only wanted to come back to try and find something, probably another founder's object, to make into another Horcrux?"

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“But he didn’t get the job, did he?” said Hermione. “So he never got the chance to find a founder’s object there and hide it in the school!”

“Okay, then,” said Harry, defeated. “Forget Hogwarts.”

Without any other leads, they travelled into London and, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, search for the orphanage in which Voldemort had been raised.

Hermione stole into a library and discovered from their records that the place had been demolished many years before. They visited its site and found a tower block of offices.

“We could try digging in to foundations?” Hermione suggested half-heartedly.

“He wouldn’t have hidden a Horcrux here,” Harry said. He had known it all along.

The orphanage had been the place Voldemort had been determined to escape; he would never have hidden a part of his soul there. Dumbledore had shown Harry that Voldemort sought grandeur or mystique in his hiding places; this dismal grey corner of London was as far removed as you could imagine from Hogwarts of the Ministry or a building like Gringotts, the Wizarding banks, with its gilded doors and marble floors.

Even without any new ideas, they continued to move through the countryside, pitching the tent in a different place each night for security. Every morning they made sure that they had removed all clues to their presence, then set off to find another lonely and secluded spot, travelling by Apparition to more woods, to the shadowy crevices of cliffs, to purple moors, gorse-covered mountainsides, and once a sheltered and pebbly cove. Every twelve hours or so they passed the Horcrux between them as though they were playing some perverse, slow-motion game of pass-the-parcel, where they dreaded the music stopping because the reward was twelve hours of increased fear and anxiety.

Harry’s scar kept prickling. It happened most often, he noticed, when he was wearing the Horcrux. Sometimes he could not stop himself reacting to the pain.

“What? What did you see?” demanded Ron, whenever he noticed Harry wince. Draco never asked out loud, but as usual had jumped to attention just the same.

“A face,” muttered Harry, every time. “The same face. The thief who stole from Gregorovitch.”

And Ron and Draco would turn away, Ron making no effort to hide his disappointment. Harry knew that they were hoping to hear news of their family or the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, but after all, he was not a television aerial; he could only see what Voldemort was thinking at the time, not tune in to whatever took his fancy. Apparently Voldemort was dwelling endlessly on the unknown youth with the gleeful face, whose name and whereabouts, Harry felt sure, Voldemort knew no better than he did. As Harry’s scar continued to burn and the merry, blond-haired boy swam tantalizingly in his memory, he learned to suppress any sign of pain or discomfort, for although Draco was willing to agree that it might be important, the other two showed nothing but impatience at the mention of the thief. He could not entirely blame them, when they were so desperate for a lead on the Horcruxes.

As the days stretched into weeks, Harry began to suspect that Ron and Hermione were having conversations without, and about, him. Several times they stopped talking abruptly when Harry entered the tent, and twice he came accidentally upon them, huddled a little distance away, heads together and talking fast; both times they fell silent when they realized he was approaching them and hastened to appear busy collecting wood or water.

Harry could not help wondering whether they had only agreed to come on what now felt like a pointless and rambling journey because they thought he had some secret plan that they would learn in due course. Ron was making no effort to hide his bad mood, and Harry was starting to fear that Hermione too was disappointed by his poor leadership.

Draco was growing more and more distant. In the close quarters of sharing a tent they had stopped exchanging their usual little intimacies. Harry couldn’t remember the last time they had done anything more exciting than lean against each other for warmth or brush a faint kiss across the others cheek in passing. They didn’t even share a bed most nights, the bunks all being particularly narrow singles with thin mattresses that were ill suited to the weight of two people. He knew Draco was worried about his Mother, who had taken Snape’s place as their spy among the Death Eaters. That it was she, well and safe, that he hoped Harry might glimpse every time his scar twinged.

In desperation he tried to think of further Horcrux locations, but the only one that continued to occur to him was Hogwarts, and as none of the others thought this at all likely, he stopped suggesting it.

Autumn rolled over the countryside as they moved through it. They were now pitching the tent on mulches of fallen leaves. Natural mists joined those cast by the dementors; wind and rain added to their troubles. The fact that Hermione was getting better at identifying edible fungi could not altogether compensate for their continuing isolation, the lack of other people’s company, or their total ignorance of what was going on in the war against Voldemort.

“My mother,” said Ron one night, as they sat in the tent on a riverbank in Wales, “can make good food appear out of thin air.”

He prodded moodily at the lumps of charred grey fish on his plate. Harry glanced automatically at Ron’s neck and saw, as he has expected, the golden chain of the Horcrux glinting there. He managed to fight down the impulse to swear at Ron, whose attitude would, he knew, improve slightly when the time came to take off the locket.

“Your mother can’t produce food out of thin air,” said Hermione. “no one can. Food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfigura—”

“Oh, speak English, can’t you?” Ron said, prising a fish out from between his teeth.

“Not her fault you’re so uninformed!” snapped Draco.

“Stay out of it, Malfoy,” retorted Ron.

“It’s impossible to make good food out of nothing!” continued Hermione as if they weren’t arguing over the top of her. “You can Summon it if you know where it is, you can transform it, you can increase the quantity if you’ve already got some—”

“Well, don’t bother increasing this, it’s disgusting,” said Ron.

“Harry caught the fish and I did my best with it! I notice I’m always the one who ends up sorting out the food, because I’m a girl, I suppose!”

“No, it’s because you’re supposed to be the best at magic!” shot back Ron.

Hermione jumped up and bits of roast pike slid off her tin plate onto the floor. “You can do the cooking tomorrow, Ron, you can find the ingredients and try and charm them into something worth eating, and I’ll sit here and pull faces and moan and you can see you—”

“Shut up!” said Harry, leaping to his feet and holding up both hands. “Shut up now!”

Hermione looked outraged.

“How can you side with him, he hardly ever does the cook—”

“Hermione, be quiet, I can hear someone!”

He was listening hard, his hands still raised, warning them not to talk. Then, over the rush and gush of the dark river beside them, he heard voices again. He looked around at the Sneakoscope. It was not moving.

“You cast the Muffliato charm over us, right?” he whispered to Draco.

“I did the lot,” he whispered back, “Muffliato, Muggle-Repelling and Disillusionment Charms, all of it. They won’t be able to hear or see us, whoever they are.”

Heavy scuffing and scraping noises, plus the sound of dislodged stones and twigs, told them that several people were clambering down the steep, wooded slope that descended to the narrow bank where they had pitched the tent.

They drew their wands, waiting. The enchantments they had cast around themselves ought to be sufficient, in the near total darkness, to shield them from the notice of Muggles and normal witches and wizards. If these were Death Eaters, then perhaps their defences were about to be tested by Dark Magic for the first time.

The voices became louder but no more intelligible as the group of men reached the bank. Harry estimated that their owners were fewer than twenty feet away, but the cascading river made it impossible to tell for sure.

Hermione snatched up the beaded bag and started to rummage; after a moment she drew out four Extendible Ears and threw one each to them, they hastily inserted the ends of the flesh-coloured strings into their ears and fed the other ends out of the tent entrance.

Within seconds Harry heard a weary male voice.

“There ought to be a few salmon in here, or d’you reckon it’s too early in the season? Accio Salmon!”

There were several distinct splashes and then the slapping sounds of fish against flesh. Somebody grunted appreciatively. Harry pressed the Extendible ear deeper into his own: Over the murmur of the river he could make out more voices, but they were not speaking English or any human language he had ever heard. It was a rough and unmelodious tongue, a string of rattling, guttural noises, and there seemed to be two speakers, one with a slightly lower, slower voice than the other.

“Goblins,” whispered Draco.

A fire danced into life on the other side of the canvas, large shadows passed between tent and flames. The delicious smell of baking salmon wafted tantalizingly in their direction. Then came the clinking of cutlery on plates, and the first man spoke again.

“Here, Griphook, Gornuk.”

“Thank you,” said the goblins together in English.

“So, you three have been on the run how long?” asked a new, mellow, and pleasant voice; it was vaguely familiar to Harry, who pictured a round-bellied, cheerful-faced man.

“Six weeks . . . Seven . . . I forget,” said the tired man. “Met up with Griphook in the first couple of days and joined forces with Gornuk not long after. Nice to have a bit of company.” There was a pause, while knives scraped plates and tin mugs were picked up and replaced on the ground.

“What made you leave, Ted?” continued the man.

“Knew they were coming for me,” replied mellow-voiced Ted, and Harry suddenly knew who he was: Tonks’s father. “Heard Death Eaters were in the area last week and decided I’d better run for it. Refused to register as a Muggle-born on principle, see, so I knew it was a matter of time, knew I’d have to leave in the end. My wife should be okay, she’s pure-blood. And then I met Dean here, what, a few days ago, son?”

“Yeah,” said another voice, and they stared at each other, silent but besides themselves with excitement, sure they recognized the voice of Dean Thomas.

“Muggle-born, eh?” asked the first man.

“Not sure,” said Dean. “My dad left my mum when I was a kid. I’ve got no proof he was a wizard, though.”

There was silence for a while, except for the sounds of munching; then Ted spoke again. “I’ve got to say, Dirk, I’m surprised to run into you. Pleased, but surprised. Word was that you’d been caught.”

“I was,” said Dirk. “I was halfway to Azkaban when I made a break for it. Stunned Dawlish, and nicked his broom. It was easier than you’d think; I don’t reckon he’s quite right at the moment. Might be Confunded. If so, I’d like to shake the hand of the witch or wizard who did it, probably saved my life.”

There was another pause in which the fire crackled and the river rushed on.

Then Ted said, “And where do you two fit in? I, er, had the impression the goblins were for You-Know-Who, on the whole.”

“You had a false impression,” said the higher-voiced of the goblins. “We take no sides. This is a wizards’ war.”

“How come you’re in hiding, then?”

“I deemed it prudent,” said the deeper-voiced goblin. “Having refused what I considered an impertinent request, I could see that my person safety was in jeopardy.”

“What did they ask you to do?” asked Ted.

“Duties ill-befitting the dignity of my race,” replied the goblin, his voice rougher and less human as he said it. “I am not a house-elf.”

“What about you, Griphook?”

“Similar reasons,” said the higher voiced goblin. “Gringotts is no longer under the sole control of my race. I recognize no Wizarding master.”

He added something under his breath in Gobbledegook, and Gornuk laughed.

“What’s the joke?” asked Dean.

“He said,” replied Dirk, “that there are things wizards don’t recognize, either.”

There was a short pause.

“I don’t get it,” said Dean.

“I had my small revenge before I left,,” said Griphook in English.

“Good man—goblin, I should say,” amended Ted hastily. “Didn’t manage to lock a Death Eater up in one of the old high-security vaults, I suppose?”

“If I had, the sword would not have helped him break out,” replied Griphook.

Gornuk laughed again and even Dirk gave a dry chuckle.

“Dean and I are still missing something here,” said Ted.

“So is Dolores Umbridge, though she does not know it,” said Griphook, and the two goblins roared with malicious laughter. Inside the tent Harry’s breathing was shallow with excitement: He and Hermione stared at each other, listening as hard as they could.

“Didn’t you hear about that, Ted?” asked Dirk. “About the kids who tried to steal Gryffindor’s sword out of the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts?”

An electric current seemed to course through Harry, jangling his every nerve as he stood rooted to the spot.

“Headmistress don’t you mean?” said Dean.

“No,” said Dirk. “Word is the school refuses to recognise the new Headmistress, so the office is still Dumbledore’s isn’t it?”

“What about the sword though? I never heard a word about it,” said Ted, “Not in the Prophet, was it?”

“Hardly,” chortled Dirk. “Griphook here told me, he heard about it from Bill Weasley who used to work for the bank. One of the kids who tried to take the sword was Bill’s younger sister.”

Harry glanced toward the others, Hermione and Ron were clutching the Extendible Ears as tightly as lifelines, Draco was looking off into the distance as if he were barely listening.

“She and a couple of friends got into the office and smashed open the glass case where the sword was. Apparently they were concerned that the new Headmistress was going to get access eventually and wanted to keep it out of her hands. Got caught trying to smuggle it down the staircase.

“Ah, God bless ‘em,” said Ted. “What did they think, that they’d be able to use the sword on You-Know-Who? Or on them Carrows is working there now?

“Well, whatever they thought they were going to do with it, Umbridge decided the sword wasn’t safe where it was,” said Dirk. “Couple of days later, she sent it down to London to be kept in Gringotts instead. In the Lestrange vault, and doesn’t that tell you just where her allegiances lie.”

The goblins started to laugh again.

“I’m still not seeing the joke,” said Ted.

“It’s a fake,” rasped Griphook.

“The sword of Gryffindor!”

“Oh yes. It is a copy— an excellent copy, it is true—but it was Wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by goblins and had certain properties only goblin-made armour possesses. Wherever the genuine sword of Gryffindor is, it is not in a vault at Gringotts bank.”

“I see,” said Ted. “And I take it you didn’t bother telling the Umbridge or the Lestranges this.’

“I saw no reason to trouble them with the information,” said Griphook smugly, and now Ted and Dean joined in Gornuk and Dirk’s laughter.

Inside the tent, Harry closed his eyes, willing someone to ask the question he needed answered, and after a minute that seemed ten, Dean obliged: he was an ex-boyfriend of Ginny’s after all.

“What happened to Ginny and all the others? The ones who tried to steal it?”

“Oh, they were punished, and cruelly,” said Griphook indifferently.

“They’re okay, though?” asked Ted quickly, “I mean, the Weasleys don’t need any more of their kids injured, do they?”

“They suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware,” said Griphook.

“Lucky for them,” said Ted. “With Umbridge and the Carrows at that school… well let’s say I don’t doubt things are a lot harder than they were.”

“You believe that story, then, do you, Ted?” asked Dirk. ”You believe the Carrows were involved in killing Dumbledore?”

“Course I do,” said Ted. “You’re not going to sit there and tell me you think Potter had anything to do with it?”

“Hard to know what to believe these days,” muttered Dirk.

“I know Harry Potter,” said Dean. “And I reckon he’s the real thing—the Chosen One, or whatever you want to call it.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot would like to believe he’s that, son,” said Dirk, “me included. But where is he? Run for it, by the looks of things, and with that Malfoy boy no less. You’d think if he knew anything we don’t, or had anything special going for him, he’d be out there now fighting, rallying resistance, instead of hiding. And you know, the Prophet made a pretty good case against him—”

“The Prophet?” scoffed Ted. “You deserve to be lied to if you’re still reading that much, Dirk. You want the facts, try the Quibbler.”

There was a sudden explosion of choking and retching, plus a good deal of thumping, by the sound of it. Dirk had swallowed a fish bone. At last he sputtered, “The Quibbler? That lunatic rag of Xeno Lovegood’s?”

“It’s not so lunatic these days,” said Ted. “You want to give it a look, Xeno is printing all the stuff the Prophet’s ignoring, not a single mention of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the last issue. How long they’ll let him get away with it, mind, I don’t know. But Xeno says, front page of every issue, that any wizard who’s against You-Know-Who ought to make helping Harry Potter their number-one priority.”

“Hard to help a boy who’s vanished off the face of the earth,” said Dirk.

“Listen, the fact that they haven’t caught him yet’s one hell of an achievement,” said Ted. “I’d take tips from him gladly; it’s what we’re trying to do, stay free, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got a point there,” said Dirk heavily. “With the whole of the Ministry and all their informers looking for him, I’d have expected him to be caught by now. Mind, who’s to say they haven’t already caught and killed him without publicizing it?”

“Ah, don’t say that, Dirk,” murmured Ted.

There was a long pause filled with more clattering of knives and forks. When they spoke again it was to discuss whether they ought to sleep on the beach or retreat back up the wooded slope. Deciding the trees would give better cover, they extinguished their fire, then clambered back up the incline, their voices fading away.

They reeled in the Extendible Ears. Harry, who had found the need to remain silent increasingly difficult the longer they eavesdropped, now found himself unable to say more than, “Ginny—the sword—”

“I know!” said Hermione.

She lunged for the tiny beaded bag, this time sinking her arm in it right up to the armpit.

“Here . . . we . . . are . . .” she said between gritted teeth, and she pulled at something that was evidently in the depths of the bag. Slowly the edge of an ornate picture frame came into sight. Harry hurried to help her. As they lifted the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus free of Hermione’s bag, she kept her wand pointing at it, ready to cast a spell at any moment.

“What’s that for?” asked Draco.

“If somebody swapped the real sword for the fake while it was in Dumbledore’s office,” she panted, as they propped the painting against the side of the tent, “Phineas Nigellus would have seen it happen, he hangs right beside the case!”

“Unless he was asleep,” said Harry, but he still held his breath as Hermione knelt down in front of the empty canvas, her wand directed at its centre, cleared her throat, then said: “Er—Phineas? Phineas Nigellus?”

Nothing happened.

“Phineas Nigellus?” said Hermione again. “Professor Black? Please could we talk to you? Please?”

“Please always helps,” said a cold, snide voice, and Phineas Nigellus slid into his portrait. At once, Hermione cried: “Obscura!”

A black blindfold appeared over Phineas Nigellus’s clever, dark eyes, causing him to bump into the frame and shriek with pain.

“What—how dare—what are you—?”

“I’m very sorry, Professor Black,” said Hermione, “but it’s a necessary precaution!”

“Remove this foul addition at once! Remove it, I say! You are ruining a great work of art! Where am I? What is going on?”

“Never mind where we are,” said Harry, and Phineas Nigellus froze, abandoning his attempts to peel off the painted blindfold.

“Can that possible be the voice of the elusive Mr. Potter?”

“Maybe,” said Harry, knowing that this would keep Phineas Nigellus’s interest.

“We’ve got a couple of questions to ask you—about the sword of Gryffindor.”

“Ah,” said Phineas Nigellus, now turning his head this way and that in an effort to catch sight of Harry, “Yes. That silly girl acted most unwisely there —”

“Shut up about my sister,” said Ron roughly, Phineas Nigellus raised supercilious eyebrows.

“Who else is here?” he asked, turning his head from side to side. “Your tone displeases me! The girl and her friends were foolhardy in the extreme. Thieving from the headmaster.”

“They weren’t thieving,” said Harry. “They were trying to protect the sword from Umbridge.”

“It belongs to the school,” said Phineas Nigellus. “Exactly what claim did the Weasley girl have upon it? She deserved her punishment, as did the idiot Longbottom and the Lovegood oddity!”

“Neville is not an idiot and Luna is not an oddity!” said Hermione.

“Where am I?” repeated Phineas Nigellus, starting to wrestle with the blindfold again. “Where have you brought me? Why have you removed me from the house of my forebears?”

“Never mind that! How did Umbridge punish Ginny, Neville, and Luna?” asked Harry urgently.

“Professor Umbridge wanted to send them to the Carrows, but Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, as their Heads of House, intervened and sent them into the Forbidden Forest, to do some work for the oaf, Hagrid.”

“Hagrid’s not an oaf!” said Hermione shrilly.

“Ginny, Neville, and Luna probably had a good laugh with Hagrid,” said Harry. “The Forbidden Forest . . . they’ve faced plenty worse than the Forbidden Forest, big deal!”

He felt relieved; he had been imagining horrors, the Cruciatus Curse at the very least.

“What we really wanted to know, Professor Black, is whether anyone else has, um, taken out the sword at all? Maybe it’s been taken away for cleaning —or something!” said Hermione.

Phineas Nigellus paused again in his struggles to free his eyes and sniggered.

“Muggle-born,” he said, “Goblin-made armour does not require cleaning, simple girl. Goblin’s silver repels mundane dirt, imbibing only that which strengthens it.”

“Don’t call Hermione simple,” said Harry.

“I grow weary of contradiction,” said Phineas Nigellus. “perhaps it is time for me to return to the headmaster’s office.?”

Still blindfolded, he began groping the side of his frame, trying to feel his way out of his picture and back into the one at Hogwarts. Harry had a sudden inspiration.

“Dumbledore! Can’t you bring us Dumbledore?”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Phineas Nigellus.

“Professor Dumbledore’s portrait—couldn’t you bring him along, here, into yours?”

Phineas Nigellus turned his face in the direction of Harry’s voice. “Evidently it is not only Muggle-borns who are ignorant, Potter. The portraits of Hogwarts may commune with each other, but they cannot travel outside of the castle except to visit a painting of themselves elsewhere. Dumbledore cannot come here with me, and after the treatment I have received at your hands, I can assure you that I will not be making a return visit!”

Slightly crestfallen, Harry watched Phineas redouble his attempts to leave his frame.

“Professor Black,” said Hermione, “couldn’t you just tell us, please, when was the last time the sword was taken out of its case? Before Ginny took it out, I mean?”

Phineas snorted impatiently.

“I believe that the last time I saw the sword of Gryffindor leave its case was when Professor Dumbledore used it to break open a ring.”

Hermione whipped around to look at Harry. Neither of them dared say more in front of Phineas Nigellus, who had at least managed to locate the exit.

“Well, good night to you,” he said a little waspishly, and he began to move out of sight again. Only the edge of his hat brim remained in view when Harry gave a sudden shout.

“Wait! Have you told Umbridge you saw this?”

Phineas Nigellus stuck his blindfolded head back into the picture. “The so-called Headmistress was sealed out of the office again as soon as she left it, despite her attempts to magically force the door to remain open. None of the portraits would tell her anything. Good-bye, Potter!”

And with that, he vanished completely, leaving behind him nothing but his murky backdrop.

“Harry!” Hermione cried.

“I know!” Harry shouted. Unable to contain himself, he punched the air; it was more than he had dared to hope for. He strode up and down the tent, feeling that he could have run a mile; he did not even feel hungry any more. Hermione was squashing Phineas Nigellus’s back into the beaded bag; when she had fastened the clasp she threw the bag aside and raised a shining face to Harry.

“The sword can destroy Horcruxes! Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthens them—Harry, that sword’s impregnated with basilisk venom!”

“And Dumbledore didn’t give it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket—”

“—and he must have realized they wouldn’t let you have it if he put it in his will—”

“—so he made a copy—”

“—and put a fake in the glass case—”

“—and he left the real one—where?”

They gazed at each other Harry felt that the answer was dangling invisibly in the air above them, tantalizingly close. Why hadn’t Dumbledore told him? Or had he, in fact, told Harry, but Harry had not realized it at the time?

“Think!” whispered Hermione. “Think! Where would he have left it?”

“Not at Hogwarts,” said Harry, resuming his pacing.

“Somewhere in Hogsmeade?” suggested Hermione.

“The Shrieking Shack?” said Harry. “Nobody ever goes in there.”

“But a few teachers know how to get in, wouldn’t that be a bit risky?”

“Dumbledore trusted his teachers,” Harry reminded her.

“Not enough to tell them that he had swapped the swords,” said Hermione.

“We don’t know that, we only know that Umbridge didn’t know it was a fake!” said Harry. “What d’you reckon, Draco? Ron?”

Harry looked around. For one bewildered moment he thought that they had both left the tent, then he realised that Ron was lying in the shadow of a bunk, looking stony.

“Oh, remembered me, have you?” he said.

“What?”

Ron snorted as he stared up at the underside of the upper bunk. “You two carry on. Don’t let me spoil your fun.”

Perplexed, Harry looked to Hermione for help, but she shook her head, apparently as nonplussed as he was.

“What’s the problem?” asked Harry.

“Problem? There’s no problem,” said Ron, still refusing to look at Harry. “Not according to you, anyways.”

There were several plunks on the canvas over their heads. It had started to rain.

“Well, you’ve obviously got a problem,” said Harry, wanting to get this sorted before he went looking for Draco. “Spit it out, will you?”

Ron swung his long legs off the bed and sat up. He looked mean, unlike himself.

“All right, I’ll spit it out. Don’t expect me to skip up and down the tent because there’s some other damn thing we’ve got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don’t know.”

“I don’t know?” repeated Harry. “I don’t know?”

Plunk, plunk, plunk. The rain was falling harder and heavier; it pattered on the leaf-strewn bank all around them and into the river chattering through the dark. Dread doused Harry’s jubilation; Ron was saying exactly what he had suspected and feared him to be thinking and Draco had gone off on his own again without even letting them know.

“It’s not like I’m not having the time of my life here,” said Ron, “you know, with my arm mangled and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we’d been running round a few weeks, we’d have achieved something.”

“Ron,” Hermione said, but in such a quiet voice that Ron could pretend not to have heard it over the loud tattoo the rain was beating on the tent.

“I thought you knew what you’d signed up for,” said Harry.

“Yeah, I thought I did too.”

“So what part of it isn’t living up to your expectations?” asked Harry. Anger was coming to his defence now. “Did you think we’d be staying in five-star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you’d be back to Mummy by Christmas?”

“We thought you knew what you were doing!” shouted Ron, standing up, and his words Harry like scalding knives. “We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!”

“Ron!” said Hermione, this time clearly audible over the rain thundering on the tent roof, but again, he ignored her.

“Well, sorry to let you down,” said Harry, his voice quite calm even though he felt hollow, inadequate. “I’ve been straight with you from the start. I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in the case you haven’t noticed, we’ve found one Horcrux—”

“Yeah, and we’re about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them—nowhere effing near in other words.”

“Take off the locket, Ron,” Hermione said, her voice unusually high. “Please take it off. You wouldn’t be talking like this if you hadn’t been wearing it all day.”

“Yeah, he would,” said Harry, who did not want excuses made for Ron. “D’you think I haven’t noticed the two of you whispering behind my back? D’you think I didn’t guess you were thinking this stuff?

“Harry, we weren’t—”

“Don’t lie!” Ron hurled at her. “You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you’d thought he had a bit more to go on than—”

“I didn’t say it like that—Harry, I didn’t!” she cried.

The rain was pounding the tent, tears were pouring down Hermione’s face, and the excitement of a few minutes before had vanished as if it had never been, a short-lived firework that had flared and died, leaving everything dark, wet, and cold. The sword of Gryffindor was hidden they knew not where, and they were three teenagers in a tent whose only achievement was not, yet, to be dead.

“So why are you still here?” Harry asked Ron.

“Search me,” said Ron.

“Go home then,” said Harry.

“Yeah, maybe I will!” shouted Ron, and he took several steps toward Harry, who did not back away. “Didn’t you hear what they said about my sister? But you don’t give a rat’s fart, do you, it’s only the Forbidden Forest, Harry I’ve-Faced-Worse Potter doesn’t care what happened to her in there—well, I do, all right, giant spiders and mental stuff—”

“I was only saying—she was with the others, they were with Hagrid—”

“Yeah, I get it, you don’t care! And what about the rest of my family, ‘the Weasleys don’t need another kid injured,’ did you hear that?”

“Yeah, I—”

“Not bothered what it meant, though?”

“Ron!” said Hermione, forcing her way between them. “I don’t think it means anything new has happened, anything we don’t know about; think, Ron, Bill’s already scarred, plenty of people must have seen that George has lost an ear by now, and you’re supposed to be on your deathbed with spattergroit, I’m sure that’s all he meant—”

“Oh, you’re sure, are you? Right then, well, I won’t bother myself about them. It’s all right for you, isn’t it, with your parents safely out of the way—”

“My parents are dead!” Harry bellowed.

“And mine could be going the same way!” yelled Ron.

“Then GO!” roared Harry. “Go back to them, pretend you’re got over your spattergroit and Mummy’ll be able to feed you up and—”

Ron made a sudden movement: Harry reacted, but before either wand was clear of its owner’s pocket, Hermione had raised her own.

“Protego!” she cried, and an invisible shield expanded between her and Harry on the one side and Ron on the other; all of them were forced backward a few steps by the strength of the spell, and Harry and Ron glared from either side of the transparent barrier as though they were seeing each other clearly for the first time. Harry felt a corrosive hatred toward Ron: Something had broken between them.

“Leave the Horcrux,” Harry said.

Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair.

He turned to Hermione. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you staying, or what?”

“I . . .” She looked anguished. “Yes—yes, I’m staying. Ron, we said we’d go with Harry, we said we’d help—”

“I get it. You choose them.”

“Ron, no—please—come back, come back!”

She was impeded by her own Shield Charm; by the time she had removed it he had already stormed into the night. Harry snatched up the Horcrux and ran out after her, putting it on and stuffing it into his shirt, focused on finding Draco rather than stopping Ron. Ron could bugger right off as far as he was concerned.

Harry stood quite still and silent outside the tent, he could hear Hermione sobbing and calling Ron’s name amongst the trees. Finally he spotted Draco standing under an umbrella charm just inside their wards, looking away from the tent. A ghostly pale figure in the dark.

“Draco,” he said when he reached him, stepping close and touching him on the arm. “Come in out the rain.”

Draco didn’t turn around. “Lit you right up, didn’t it?” he said quietly. “Haven’t seen you that happy since we were at Hogwarts.”

“Well, yeah,” said Harry. “It’s a clue isn’t it, it’s something.”

“I’m not talking about the Sword of Gryffindor,” said Draco, finally turning around, his eyes cold and his face drawn. “I’m talking about her. The minute they said her name, it was all over your face.”

“What?” Harry felt himself swell with frustration. “You can’t be talking about Ginny again.”

“What about Ginny?” Draco mimicked. “Why don’t we ask Ginny to help? Why don’t we go back to Hogwarts so that I can see Ginny again!?”

“For the last fucking time,” Harry shouted, temper torn back open. “Ginny is my friend! So yes I care what happens to her! But that’s not...”

“And how many of your friends like to stick their tongues in your mouth?”

“That wasn’t even Ginny, that was Hermione!”

“That time it was! Besides you think that makes it all right? I notice you didn’t do much to stop her.”

“You’re one to talk. Who nearly got us all killed cause they were so sucked in by their poisonous ex-girlfriend they couldn’t accept she was a Death Eater!? Or did you just care more about her than you did about us? Well, congratulations on letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts and getting Professor Dumbledore killed.”

Draco looked as if he’d been slapped.

They stared at each other.

“I...” said Harry. “I’m sor...”

“Shut up,” said Draco flatly. “Just shut up.”

And he turned and walked away.

As soon as Harry realised he had stepped outside the wards he started and tried to go after him, but he didn’t even make it past them himself before Draco had spun around and Disapparated away with a pop that was barely even noticeable over the sound of the rain.

Harry stood there, just inside the wards staring out, for a long time. His face was so wet already he couldn’t even feel the tears running down his cheeks.

Finally he walked numbly back to the tent. After a few minutes Hermione returned as well, her sopping hair plastered to her face. “He’s g-g-gone! Disapparated!”

She threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry.

Harry felt dazed, he dragged blankets off Ron’s bunk and threw them over Hermione. He would tell her that Draco was gone as well in the morning, once she had calmed down enough to notice. Once he was sure he could say the words without starting to cry again himself. He climbed onto his own bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, listening to the pounding of the rain. They had a clue at last, but part of him would trade it in a second to have Draco and Ron back. Not to feel as if everything were falling apart around him.

The locket burned cold on his chest, the chill of it stealing into his heart.

  



	6. The Sword of Gryffindor

Draco Apparated to the first place he thought of, a quiet place he knew in the woods outside of Malfoy Manor. He cast the same wards they had been using on their campsite, and sat quietly for half an hour in the drizzle trying to calm down.

It was a place he had often gone that terrible summer between 4th and 5th year, but he knew he couldn’t stay there. He had left with nothing but his wand and the robes on his back; no food, no shelter. He had a sparse few choices that he could see. He could hide out with the few Muggles he had befriended that summer, assuming they even remembered who he was after over two years had passed; he could go to the Burrow and hope to reconnect with the Order that way; or he could go to Hogwarts, to Professor Snape.

He wouldn’t go back. What would even be the point, with all their wards up he wouldn’t even be able to see the camp, and besides… there was nothing to go back for. He had been worse than useless, unable to stop dwelling on the hopelessness of their quest and his own fears and bad memories. He was holding them back.

The simple truth was he couldn’t bear to be in the presence of that locket for one more moment, let alone have it lying against his chest for hours at a time. He knew it affected him more than any of the others, far more even than Weasley, who was a nightmare when he had it on. But he had never admitted even to Harry just how much its presence disturbed him. How even being in the same space as a piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul made his skin crawl. How having it actually around his neck dropped him into a recurring nightmare of hissing words and cold hands and revulsion that made him want to vomit. How he had started cutting again, just shallow controllable cuts, when he was off on his own. He had found a piece of glass half buried in the ground near their camp site some weeks back, had cleaned it off and re-broken it into a sharp clean edge which he kept wrapped in a handkerchief in his pocket.

None of them noticed that his thighs were striped with thin line after line after line, crossed and criss-crossed, old and new, in a pattern that he found strangely beautiful to look at on the rare occasion he had the opportunity. They used charms to stay clean mostly and rarely stripped off their innermost layers thanks to the cold. And since he could barely stand to be touched these days, Harry had never noticed his weakness.

And let’s face it, Harry and he had been drifting apart for for over a year now, despite Harry’s denials otherwise. First his eyes had started drifting back to Cho, then he had kissed Ginny Weasley. Kissed her in front of his entire bloody House! He had never been fully comfortable being with another boy, not really, no matter how much he cared for Draco. The flush of new love had worn off, just as his Father had said it might, and eventually Harry would fall back into the path already well laid out for him. A pretty girl and a traditional marriage and no doubt a grotesque number of children.

Harry had brought him along in a mistaken bout of loyalty, he had no legacy from Dumbledore, no real place there. Perhaps with him gone, the three of them would fit back together into the tight triad they had always been. And then when Harry finally succeeded in his task, assuming any of them survived that, he could go and find Ginny Weasley and have what he’d always wanted.

Draco sighed and reweighed his options. Despite having left Harry in anger he had no intention of betraying their plans or location, which he suspected would not go down well with the Weasleys or the bulk of the Order. But Professor Snape understood about keeping secrets, about Dumbledore and Harry, in a way the others didn’t. And he might even be able to help from afar if he could get some more information about the real sword of Gryffindor.

The only question was, could he get into Hogwarts without being caught by Death Eaters, the Snatchers, or the new head teacher? They had already been spotted in Hogsmeade once and he had no invisibility cloak now. He needed to get a message to Professor Snape.

It was a lonely but interesting couple of weeks that followed. Away from the influence of the locket and the constant worry that he was losing his relationship he found himself far more functional than he had been in some time. Yes, he was sad that things had ended the way they had between he and Harry. Yes, he missed him. But he missed the relationship of a year ago, not the sorry mess he had walked away from. The feeling of being polluted and the worry that he was failing all the time had lifted and he felt refreshed by their absence, and he was surprised and not a little delighted by how well he was doing on his own. He had made his way to Glasgow, the largely Muggle city that was the largest in Scotland. By picking up lost coins and pilfering a couple of notes out of a ladies handbag when she wasn’t looking, then using transfiguration to multiply them, he had made enough Muggle money to pay for food and a decent enough room in a bed and breakfast near the Botanic Gardens. The Dementors seemed to be being kept away from the area by the local wizarding population, so even in the chilly rains of autumn the West End of Glasgow felt strangely light and airy.

He had been wary at first of going too near the wizarding areas, afraid of being spotted now that he had no invisibility cloak to hide under, but eventually he had realised there was nothing but to get on and do it. Unless he planned to spend the rest of the war useless, uninformed, and living like a Muggle. He charmed his hair darker, and wrapped a scarf around his head and stuck on a woolly hat to boot. Fortunately it being late autumn in Scotland the weather was nearly always cold and rainy enough to walk around almost entirely covered up without attracting suspicion.

His first foray was a swift test journey to retrieve the day’s wizarding newspapers and get himself as up to date as he could. His heart pounded, as he had no wizarding money at all - so he had to steal the Daily Prophet, and he quickly lifted a copy of the Quibbler as well, as the headlines on it looked interesting.

The news was not good, nor was it bad. Just more of the same for the most part. Depressing, but at least no sudden worsening of affairs while he had been out of the loop. And it was quite clear Harry and the others were still safely on the lam, or at least there was no news of their capture.

He took a day to get his nerve back up, and to sort out new and differently coloured outer clothes just in case he had been spotted last time. For this was the really dangerous move, but necessary if he was to reach Professor Snape without entering Hogsmeade.

He entered Glasgow’s Main Owl Post Office at the height of the rush hour, hoping the business would hide his intentions better than quiet would. He hung back, eyeing his options, before choosing the queue of a very young looking wizard who looked especially harried. What he wouldn’t give for some of the Decoy Detonators Hermione had in her beaded bag of wonders.

After nearly fifteen minutes, all of which he spent regretting this plan which gave people far too much time to look at him as he stood in the queue, he found himself at the desk. He handed his carefully worded letter over to the clerk at the same time as he pointed his wand, hidden under his other hand, and whispered ‘Confundus’.

The clerk looked woozy for a moment, but still continued in his obviously well repeated script. “One sickle for economy, three sickles for regular, a galleon for priority.”

“I already paid you for a regular owl,” Draco said calmly.

“Oh,” said the clerk, looking down at his hands and seeing only the letter. “Are you s...”

“You put the money away already, look there’s a lot of people waiting behind me, can we get on with it?” Draco was careful not to raise his voice so much that the people either side or behind him might take note.

“R...right,” said the clerk, and chucked the letter into the slot marked regular behind him, where someone else would attach it to an owl and send it off.

“Thank you,” muttered Draco and beat a hasty retreat out of the office, past the couple of wizarding shops that sat next to it and back into Muggle Glasgow, walking quickly down Dumbarton Road and onto the busy pavements of Byers Road. He spent an hour going in and out of shops until he was sure no one had followed him, then headed back to his B&B via the orchid house, which always relaxed him.

As requested Snape did not attempt to reply via owl, but met him alone the very next day in a small Muggle café on the Great Western Road.

He sat down silently across from Draco and studied the boy for a moment before he spoke. “I cannot stay longer than a few minutes, being outside secure wards is not safe for me as you well know.” He gestured slightly to his left arm

Any Death Eater could be tracked by Voldemort using the Dark Mark, but the Dark Lord would only know where Snape was if he was actively trying to find him at that moment, which was unlikely unless someone at the school told him that Snape was missing.

“I never intended to keep you long, I want to go back to the school with you.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “And what about Potter?”

Draco looked down. “I’m not with them any more. I don’t know where Harry and the others are… I… they still have a job to do.”

Snape frowned. “Granger and Potter may still have a job to do, but Weasley returned to his family almost two weeks ago.”

“Ron left them?” Draco was shocked, and then less shocked as he thought about it. He had nursed the idea that they would all be better off once he was gone, but really, Weasley had been worse than he was when it came to the way he had actually been acting towards the other two. So he supposed it wasn’t so much of a shock that there had been another rupture in the group. His heart lurched at the thought of Harry and Hermione alone in the woods, on a seemingly impossible quest, gradually losing their friends one by one. He felt awful, but quickly thrust the feeling down.

“Can we go,” he said. “I’d like to be somewhere a bit safer than this.”

Snape made a disbelieving sound. “And you think Hogwarts is a safe haven? With two Death Eaters on the staff and a woman who might as well be one running the school?”

“Well, you’re still alive aren’t you?” Draco retorted.

“Not for lack of attempts otherwise,” Snape noted. But still he stood up. “Come along then, best that I return before I am noticed absent.”

They walked together in the early twilight until they reached the quiet corner where Snape must have arrived, and he swiftly side-alonged Draco to the edge of the school wards. There he pulled out the Marauders Map and using it they made their way to Snape’s quarters. As Draco had hoped, it was dinner time at the school and just about everyone was in the Great Hall rather than wandering the corridors.

“Do you need to make an appearance at dinner?” Draco asked once they were safely inside Snape’s rooms.

“I am often absent from meals, it will not seem unusual. I was not exaggerating how dangerous the school has become for those who are not friendly to the Dark Lord, dining alone has become a pleasant interlude in the constant need to watch my back. Now,” he narrowed his eyes in a way that made Draco nervous. “What separated you from Potter and what on earth were the lot of you doing in the school at the start of term?”

Draco avoided eye contact and went to sit down. “I don’t want to talk about Harry. Have you heard from my Mother?”

Snape sighed, but let the topic move, “She occasionally gets word back to an Order member. She is alive and well last I heard. Trusted again by the Dark Lord, thanks to her sister Bellatrix, but still needs to be very cautious. I am largely out of the loop due to my precarious position, I hear a little now and then from Professor McGonagall or Lupin and Black.” He spoke the last as if deeply offended at having to get any information via Sirius.

“And they’re all right too? Did Professor Lupin get into trouble over what we did to Umbridge?”

Snape was instantly back onto the topic. “You stole a necklace, what was the purpose of that? Or was the necklace a distraction? The Headmistress said it was a family heirloom.”

Draco had a terrible thought. “Did she make a big deal about it? Do you think… I mean… did she describe it to people...”

“I think you had better tell me the importance of this necklace, Draco.”

“I can’t,” said Draco in desperation. “No one else can know except Harry, Ron and Hermione. If Dumbledore had wanted you to know he would have told you before… before.”

Snape looked at Draco for a long moment, then sat back thoughtfully. “Damn that man and his secrets,” he said softly and without ire. “Sometimes I feel we are all simply treading out the parts he has already ordained for us, even after his death.”

“Please tell me what happened with the necklace?”

“There was a small fuss, it was searched for and not found. I am not aware anyone took it especially seriously, it was simply an embarrassment that the Headmistress should be so waylaid on what was her first day in charge of a school full of pupils. It was not the only prank pulled that day, there were dungbombs let off in her office and some vandalism in the east wing. There was some suspicion laid on Professor Lupin, but priori incantatem showed the only spell he had cast was the one that woke Dolores up.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief, which swiftly transformed itself into a yawn. He had not slept well last night.

“I have transfigured a small cot in my room,” Snape told him, “it will have to suffice. It is unsafe for you to leave my quarters, as I’m sure you realise. Would you prefer I keep your whereabouts secret or should I inform the Order?”

“You would stay silent if I asked?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you… I think I would prefer they didn’t know just yet. I don’t want to be pestered with questions about where we’ve been and what we’re doing.”

Draco spent a quiet week, gradually absorbing his new environment and the little drops of information he could get from Snape. Carefully avoiding talking about what he had spent the last few months doing and his reasons for returning to the world at large. Well, as returned as he could be when he was hiding out in Severus Snape’s personal quarters, with only Professor McGonagall aware of his presence. A day after his return Snape had told him in no uncertain terms that he was informing her, and her alone, so that there would be someone here to look out for him should he be rendered unavailable. By which Draco understood him to mean if Voldemort succeeded in having him killed.

His strange euphoria had died away now to nothing, and he was horribly aware that he had walked out on the person he cared for the most. All because he wasn’t strong enough to stand up to even a tiny portion of Voldemort’s soul. But he refused to fall apart over it, instead it was time he did as he had hoped to and discovered the location of the true sword of Gryffindor, then he would figure out how to get back to Harry. And with circumstances being what they were, he only had one source of information.

“Can I ask you about something?” he broached over dinner.

“Of course,” was the curt reply.

“We heard that a bunch of Gryffindors tried to steal a sword from the Headmaster’s office...” he trailed off hoping Snape would pick up the topic.

“And where did you hear that?”

Of course not. “We came across some Goblins from Gringotts, they said the Headmistress sent the sword there to keep it safe… but they said something rather interesting about it too...”

“Which was?”

“They said it was a fake.”

Snape observed him over his water glass silently.

“So I was wondering where the real one might be.”

“Whom else did these goblins tell this story too?” asked Snape.

"A couple of other people on the run from the Death Eaters, one of them was Dean Thomas, that muggleborn from Gryffindor."

“Let me be more precise, did these Goblins tell anyone at Gringotts the sword was a fake… the Headmistress perhaps… or the owner of the vault it was placed into?”

“No, they thought it was funny that we… wizards I mean…. didn’t realise it. Look the thing is… Harry needs the sword for something. So I need to find it and get it to him.”

“I would ask you what Potter needs the sword of Gryffindor for, but it is irrelevant. Professor Dumbledore made it clear to me before his death that it was vital the sword go to Potter, but he was unable to use his will to do so as the sword was not strictly speaking his to give away. I had intended to give it to Potter when he got to school… which he inconveniently failed to do.”

“But now we know it was fake anyway. Do you think Dumbledore hid the real one somewhere only Potter would find it?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Draco.” Snape sighed. “Albus Dumbledore had nothing to do with the fake sword, I placed the fake into the Headmaster’s office as soon as I heard that Professor McGonagall was not to become Headmistress as expected. I could not risk it falling into the wrong hands.”

Draco shot to his feet. “Then you have the real sword!”

“Yes, I have the real sword,” said Snape. ”The problem is, as usual, Potter. I cannot give him the sword if I cannot find him.”

Draco sat back down, momentarily at a loss. Finding the sword had been a thousand times easier than expected, but he had no more idea of how to locate Harry than Professor Snape did. He tried to think logically.

“You know there’s a painting of Phineas Nigellus Black in the Headmaster’s office,” Draco began.

“I am aware.”

“Well… Granger and Potter have his other painting from Grimmauld Place with them. If we could get access to his painting here we might be able to get him to spy on them for us. He won’t be able to pick up much, cause they keep him put away, but he might catch something that would let us find them?”

Snape looked surprisingly pleased. “That is a very serviceable idea.”

“You can get into the office?”

“I can. Although I can probably arrange via the other paintings for us to speak to him here.” And Snape gestured to an oil painting of an old fashioned potions worktop that sat upon the wall of his sitting room.

At first the ex-Headmaster was cagey about admitting anything, but after some persuasion, and a little assistance from Professor Dumbledore’s portrait, he confessed that he was in occasional contact with Harry and Hermione. It had helped considerably that Draco was a Black by blood.

“For the sake of information I put up with the ignominy of being blindfolded. These children, these truants, seem to think they have a right to do whatever they like. I can assure you that should I catch the slightest hint of their location, I will inform you immediately.”

“But no-one else, please, Professor Black,” said Snape. “You understand that there are many people now in the school and the Ministry who are a danger to us all.”

“I understand perfectly, I may be a painting, but I am not an idiot.”

“What do they talk to you about?” asked Draco.

“They seem to be largely concerned with the well being of their friends at the school. Which of course reveals how dangerously short sighted children can be in such situations. Clearly the wider geo-political issues are of paramount ...”

“Who do they ask about?” Draco broke in before the Professor could go on another rant about the youth of today and how much better he was at understanding things.

Phineas peered at Draco. “They do not ask about you, if that is what you wish to know,” he said sniffily. “See,” he said to Professor Snape. “Another example of the narcissistic nature of the young.”

“Perhaps we should have Phineas inform them you are at the school,” said Snape. “They might be willing to reveal their location if it were to you.”

Draco thought about it.

“They mostly ask about that frightful girl who tried to steal the sword of Gryffindor,” said Phineas. “Ginevra Weasley. And that reprobate relative of mine, Sirius Black. Buggering a werewolf, his parents must be rolling in their graves.”

“No,” said Draco. “I don’t think they would want me to find them. We…. didn’t part on good terms.”

Snape gave him a derisive look. “Why does that not surprise me.”

“Besides if they think Professor Black is speaking to us they might stop talking to him altogether. They already clam up any time he tries to get any information on them.”

Then began a long period of waiting, which Professor Snape seemed to take in his stride. Draco on the other hand was slowly losing the plot. He had no-one to speak to but Professor Snape and very occasionally Professor McGonagall and nothing to do but the studying, which Snape insisted he do so as not to fall so far behind in school work that he had no chance of passing his NEWTS. On the one hand Draco thought it was ridiculous to even care about that in the middle of a war, on the other hand if it weren’t for that he probably would have cracked already.

He had taken to talking to House Elves. Well actually one house elf in particular.

He remembered Dobby from when the elf had been one of the Malfoy house elves, in particular his Father’s elf. He remembered how furious his Father had been in second year when “that ridiculous bloody child” had managed to free the elf from his service.

Now as a free elf, Draco was aware of just how much power Dobby had, if only he could figure out how to use it to his own ends. He had tried persuading Dobby to go to Harry and then come back and tell Draco where he was. Dobby had refused flatly to do such a thing, considering it a betrayal and refusing to speak to him for a week afterwards. It later turned out, after trying to get Snape on side, that it wasn’t quite that simple anyway. To find Harry when Harry was not officially one of his owners and his location was unknown, Harry, or someone else with him, would have to call for Dobby. And Phineas Nigellus wouldn’t do, as paintings couldn’t summon house elves.

In late November he finally decided he couldn’t just study and wait for a chance to get the sword to Harry, he wanted to do more. And he knew things were worsening in the school, he got daily updates from Snape and Dobby on the new regime. He finally allowed Sirius and Professor Lupin to be informed of his presence and with their help began meeting with some of the others from the old Dumbledore’s Army. It turned out the group had become the ground spring of the school’s resistance, largely led by of all people, Neville Longbottom. Unfortunately his second in command seemed to be Ginny Weasley, whom Draco would quite happily have never seen again.

By now Christmas was fast approaching. Draco had successfully befriended Dobby to the extent that the elf had strung a Christmas wreath along the top of the sitting room fireplace and tucked sprigs of red berried holly around the room, much to Snape’s displeasure.

While they hadn’t been able to use Dobby to find Harry, they had succeeded in setting up a simpler way to communicate with his Mother. Narcissa could call Dobby to her when she was alone and use him to pass messages directly to Draco or Snape. Even if she were spotted speaking to him, no wizard paid much attention to a house elf. Draco had even risked writing a letter to her. Just once.

He knew now that she was at Parkinson Manor, and that Pansy was regularly there as well, despite also still attending school. Even though Pansy had let Death Eaters into the school and killed the Headmaster, a little part of him still found ways to forgive her. Or at least to understand. He would not have liked to be in her position, and even now he could not be sure what he might have done in her place. But he did know that if they won the war there would be no way to save her from Azkaban. He wished he could have somehow figured out a way to keep her safe, to draw her back from the cliff edge she had leapt over that terrible night.

It was one more thing in his list of regrets

–

It was Boxing Day when they finally caught their break. Phineas Nigellus woke them up shouting from the living room. Harry and Hermione had just Apparated to the Forest of Dean.

“I’m not sure you should accompany me,” muttered Snape, even as they were dressing warmly and quickly grabbing some toast and tea.

“There’s no way you’re going alone. Is it even safe for you to go at all?”

“The Dark Lord has bigger things to deal with than to be searching for me on a daily basis, especially as he has no reason not to assume I am right here in the school.”

“Maybe we should get Sirius to help us look?”

“There is no need to invite the mutt. If what you have told me of the spell work they are using to hide themselves is correct, and I shall assume it is as I would have surmised these to be the spells Granger would use, I can locate them once we are there.”

“What use are they as hiding spells if they can be used to find them?”

“They can be used by me, to find them, because I already know roughly where they are, and I know exactly who they are and exactly what spells they are using. Also because I am an extremely powerful and intelligent wizard, unlike the dregs of wizarding kind that make up most Snatcher search parties. Now hurry up, I want to get out of the castle before sunrise.”

The Forest of Dean was large, and snowy. Once they arrived on the outskirts it took Snape several hours to get a feel for the position of the camp site. Finally they had it pretty much pinned down, that was when Snape broke some unexpected news.

“Unfortunately we cannot simply march up to their camp and give the sword to them.”

“Why not, they know you’re on their side, they’re hardly going to turn you away when you’re giving them what they’re looking for.”

“Because,” Snape ground out, looking deeply irritated. “The Sword of Gryffindor cannot simply be given to someone. It can only be taken through an act of valour.” He said the last word as if it were poisonous. “Apparently it didn’t occur to Godric Gryffindor that this might be inconvenient in a time of crisis.”

“Then how did you get it?”

Snape glared at him. “Apparently breaking into the Headmaster’s office to prevent the sword from falling into the wrong hands was considered valorous enough.”

“Right. So what do we do?”

“We arrange for the sword to be accessible through an act of stupidity… sorry bravery. We lead Potter to the location where said act can take place, and he will undoubtedly leap, quite literally, in.” Snape pointed through the trees.

Draco took a few steps along the path he was pointing and spotted the gleam of ice in the distance. “Water?”

“Indeed. This country has a long and inexplicable tradition of swords and ponds.”

They waited until dark to spring their trap. Snape had sunk the sword beneath the ice of the sizeable pond he had found and charged Draco to watch over it while he went to lure Potter there by means he had refused to disclose.

Draco alternated between feeling cold and feeling breathlessly excited. He was going to see Harry for the first time in months.

What felt like an hour later Snape came noiselessly through the trees to where Draco was hidden and dropped into the shadows next to him. In the distance Draco could see something gleaming silver approaching.

“What’s th...” he began.

“Hush.”

They waited together in silence as through the trees stepped a silver doe – a Patronus.

And after it came Harry, so bundled in clothes he looked like a stuffed scarecrow.

The deer halted by the water and as Harry ran towards her, Snape made a jerking motion with his wand and she disappeared.

The clearing was barely dark a second when Harry cast a Lumos and lit it up again. They crouched deeper into the shadows, for the Lumos cast far more light than the silvery Patronus had.

Harry looked around frantically then fell to his knees by the pond, he had spotted the sword.

Snape rose quietly to his feet and gestured for Draco to join him. Standing up cautiously, Draco whispered, “What?”

“We should leave,” Snape said almost soundlessly.

Draco shook his head.

By the pond Harry was stripping off his layers of jumpers in preparation. There was no way Draco was leaving until he knew Harry had made it safely out of the water.

The crack of the ice breaking was loud enough to make Draco jump, but the sight of Harry’s extremely underfed body diving into what must be frigid water was almost enough to make him step out and go to help him.

Snape’s hand tightened on his arm. “If you wish to join them again you must wait until after he has retrieved the sword.”

Before Draco could reply another figure ran toward the pond, causing them both to nearly leap out of their skins.

“Harry!” shouted Ron Weasley. “Bleeding hell, Harry, what are you doing?”

They peered around their tree.

After a few seconds of peering frantically into the water from the shore, Ron ran into the pond itself, fully dressed, swearing loudly.

Draco watched as Ron hauled Harry and the sword out of the water, then as they reached the shore Draco turned around and started to walk quickly but silently away.

“Are – you – mental?” he heard Ron demanding behind him.

He felt rather than heard Snape follow behind him, a slight movement in the air, a hint of a warm body at his back.

Ron had found them, they had the sword, there was nothing more Draco could do.


	7. Parkinson Manor

Harry looked around at the other two, now mere outlines in the darkness. He saw Hermione point her wand, set toward the outside, but into his face; there was a bang, a burst of white light, and he buckled in agony, unable to see. He could feel his face swelling rapidly under his hands as heavy footfalls surrounded him.

"Get up, vermin."

Unknown hands dragged Harry roughly off the ground, before he could stop them, someone had rummaged through his pockets and removed the blackthorn wand. Harry clutched at his excruciatingly painful face, which felt unrecognisable beneath his fingers, tight, swollen, and puffy as though he had suffered some violent allergic reaction. His eyes had been reduced to slits through which he could barely see; his glasses fell off as he was bundled out of the tent: all he could make out were the blurred shapes of four or five people wrestling Ron and Hermione outside too.

"Get -- off - her!" Ron shouted. There was the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Ron grunted in pain and Hermione screamed, "No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!"

"Your boyfriend's going to have worse than that done to him if he's on my list," said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. "Delicious girl... what a treat . . . I do enjoy the softness of the skin. . . ."

Harry's stomach turned over. He knew who this was, Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.

"Search the tent!" said another voice.

Harry was thrown face down onto the ground. A thud told him that Ron had been cast down beside him. They could hear footsteps and crashes; the men were pushing over chairs inside the tent as they searched.

"Now, let's see who we've got," said Greyback's gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over onto his back. A beam of wand light fell onto his face and Greyback laughed.

"I'll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"

Harry did not answer immediately.

"I said," repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm that made him double over in pain. "what happened to you?"

"Stung." Harry muttered. "Been stung."

"Yeah, looks like it." said a second voice.

"What’s your name?" snarled Greyback.

"Dudley." said Harry.

"And your first name?"

"I -- Vernon. Vernon Dudley."

"Check the list, Scabior." said Greyback, and Harry head him move sideways to look down at Ron, instead. "And what about you, ginger?"

"Stan Shunpike." said Ron.

"Like 'ell you are." said the man called Scabior. "We know Stan Shunpike, 'e's put a bit of work our way."

There was another thud.

"I'm Bardy," said Ron, and Harry could tell that his mouth was full of blood. "Bardy Weasley."

"A Weasley?" rasped Greyback. "So you're related to blood traitors even if you're not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend . . ." The relish in his voice made Harry's flesh crawl.

"Easy, Greyback." said Scabior over the jeering of the others.

"Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet. We'll see if she’s a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?

"Penelope Clearwater." said Hermione. She sounded terrified, but convincing.

"What's your blood status?"

"Half-Blood." said Hermione.

"Easy enough to check," said Scabior. "But the 'ole lot of 'em look like they could still be 'ogwarts age -"

"We'b lebt," said Ron.

"Left, 'ave you, ginger?" said Scabior. "And you decided to go camping? And you thought, just for a laugh, you'd use the Dark Lords name?"

"Nod a laugh," said Ron. "Aggiden."

"Accident?" There was more jeering laughter.

"You know who used to like using the Dark Lord's name, Weasley?" growled Greyback, "The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?"

"Doh."

"Well, they don't show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name's been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We'll see. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!"

Someone yanked Harry up by the hair, dragged him a short way, pushed him down into a sitting position, then started binding him back-to-back with other people.

Harry was still half blind, barely able to see anything through his puffed-up eyes. When at last the man tying then had walked away, Harry whispered to the other prisoners. "Anyone still got a wand?"

"No." Said Ron and Hermione from either side of him.

"This is all my fault. I said the name. I'm sorry -"

"Harry?"

It was a new, but familiar voice. and it came from directly behind Harry, from the person tied to Hermione's left.

"Dean?"

"It is you! If they find out who they've got -! They're Snatchers, they're only looking for truants to sell for gold -"

"Not a bad little haul for one night." Greyback was saying, as a pair of hobnailed boots marched close by Harry and they heard more crashes from inside the tent. "A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and these truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?" he roared.

"Yeah. There's no Vernon Dudley un 'ere, Greyback."

"Interesting," said Greyback. "That's interesting."

He crouched down beside Harry, who saw, through the infinitesimal gap left between his swollen eyelids, a face covered in matted grey hair and whiskers, with pointed brown teeth and sores in the corners of his mouth. Greyback smelled as he had done at the top of the tower where Dumbledore had died: of dirt, sweat, and blood.

"So you aren't wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What house were you in at Hogwarts?"

"Slytherin," said Harry automatically.

"Funny 'ow they all thinks we wants to 'ear that." leered Scabior out of the shadows. "But none of 'em can tell us where the common room is."

"It's in the dungeons." said Harry clearly. "You enter through the wall. It's full of skulls and stuff and it’s under the lake, so the light's all green."

There was a short pause.

"Well, well, looks like we really 'ave caught a little Slytherin." said Scabior.

"Good for you, Vernon, 'cause there ain't a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Who's your father?"

"He works at the Ministry," Harry lied. He knew that his whole story would collapse with the smallest investigation, but on the other hand, he only had until his face regained its usual appearance before the game was up in any case. "Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"You know what, Greyback," said Scabior. "I think there is a Dudley in there."

Harry could barely breathe: Could luck, sheer luck, get them safely out of this?

"Well, well." said Greyback, and Harry could hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and knew that Greyback was wondering whether he had just indeed just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry Official. Harry's heart was pounding against the ropes around his ribs; he would not have been surprised to know that Greyback could see it. "If you're telling the truth, ugly, you've got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father'll reward us just for picking you up."

"But," said Harry, his mouth bone dry, "if you just let us -"

"Hey!" came a shout from inside the tent. "Look at this. Greyback!"

A dark figure came bustling toward them, and Harry saw a glint of silver to the light of their wands. They had found Gryffindor's sword.

"Ve-e-ery nice," said Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion.

"Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"

"It's my father's," Harry lied, hoping against hope that it was too dark for Greyback to see the name etched just below the hilt. "We borrowed it to cut firewood -"

"'ang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the Prophet! "

As Scabior said it, Harry's scar, which was stretched tight across his distended forehead, burned savagely. More clearly than he could make out anything around him, he saw a towering building, a grim fortress, jet-black and forbidding: Voldemort's thoughts had suddenly become Razor-Sharp again; he was gliding toward the gigantic building with a sense of calmly euphoric purpose . . .

So close . . . So close . . .

With a huge effort of will Harry closed his mind to Voldemort's thoughts, pulling himself back to where he sat, tied to Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Griphook in the darkness, listening to Greyback and Scabior.

"' Hermione Granger, " Scabior was saying, " the Mudblood who is known to be traveling with 'arry Potter."

Harry's scar burned in the silence, but he made a supreme effort to keep himself present, nor to slip into Voldemort's mind. He heard the creak of Greyback's boots as he crouched down, in front of Hermione.

"You know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."

"It isn't! It isn't me!" Hermione's terrified squeak was as good as a confession.

" ... known to be travelling with Harry Potter, " repeated Greyback quietly.

A stillness had settled over the scene. Harry's scar was Exquisitely painful, but he struggled with all his strength against the pull of Voldemort's thoughts. It had never been so important to remain in his own right mind.

"Well, this changed things, doesn't it?" whispered Greyback. Nobody spoke: Harry sensed the gang of Snatchers watching, frozen, and felt Hermione's arm trembling against his. Greyback got up and took a couple of steps to where Harry sat, crouching down again to stare closely at his misshapen features.

"What's that on your forehead, Vernon?" he asked softly, his breath foul in Harry's nostrils as he pressed a filthy finger to the taught scar.

"Don't touch it! Harry yelled; he could not stop himself, he thought he might be sick from the pain of it.

"I thought you wore glasses, Potter?" breathed Greyback.

"I found glasses!" yelped one of the Snatchers skulking in the background.

"There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait -"

And seconds later Harry's glasses had been rammed back onto his face. The Snatchers were closing in now, peering at him.

"It is!" rasped Greyback. "We've caught Potter!"

They all took several steps backward, stunned by what they had done. Harry still fighting to remain present in his own splitting head, could think of nothing to say.

Fragmented visions were breaking across the surface of his mind ---He was hiding around the high walls of the black fortress--

No, he was Harry, tied up and wandless, in grave danger--

\--looking up, up to the topmost window, the highest tower--

He was Harry, and they were discussing his fate in low voices--

\--Time to fly . . .

". . . To the Ministry?"

"To hell with the Ministry." growled Greyback. "They'll take the credit, and we won't get a look in. I say we take him straight to You-Know-Who."

"Will you summon 'im? 'ere? " said Scabior, sounding awed, terrified.

"No," snarled Greyback, "I haven't got -- they say he's using the Parkinson's place as a base. We'll take the boy there."

Harry thought he knew why Greyback was not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him, but only Voldemort's inner circle were branded with the Dark Mark: Greyback had not been granted this highest honour.

Harry’s scar seared again –

– and he rose into the night, flying straight up to the windows at the very top of the tower –

“. . . completely sure it’s him? ‘Cause if it ain’t, Greyback, we’re dead.”

“Who’s in charge here?” roared Greyback, covering his moment of inadequacy. “I say that’s Potter, and him plus his wand, that’s two hundred thousand Galleons right there! But if you’re too gutless to come along, any of you, it’s all for me, and with any luck, I’ll get the girl thrown in!”

–The window was the merest slit in the black rock, not big enough for a man to enter. . . . A skeletal figure was just visible through it, curled beneath a blanket. . . . Dead, or sleeping . . . ?

“All right!” said Scabior. “All right, we’re in! And what about the rest of ‘em, Greyback, what’ll we do with ‘em?”

“Might as well take the lot. We’ve got two Mudbloods, that’s another ten Galleons. Give me the sword as well. If they’re rubies, that’s another small fortune right there.”

The prisoners were dragged to their feet. Harry could hear Hermione’s breathing, fast and terrified.

“Grab hold and make it tight. I’ll do Potter!” said Greyback, seizing a fistful of Harry’s hair; Harry could feel his long yellow nails scratching his scalp.

“On three! One – two – three –“

They Disapparated, pulling the prisoners with them. Harry struggled, trying to throw off Greyback’s hand, but it was hopeless: Ron and Hermione were squeezed tightly against him on either side; he could not separate from the group, and as the breath was squeezed out of him his scar seared more painfully still –

– as he forced himself through the slit of a window like a snake and landed, lightly as vapour inside the cell-like room –

The prisoners lurched into one another as they landed in a country lane. Harry’s eyes, still puffy, took a moment to acclimatize, then he saw a pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of what looked like a long drive. He experienced the tiniest trickle of relief.

The worst had not happened yet: Voldemort was not here. He was, Harry knew, for he was fighting to resist the vision, in some strange, fortress-like place, at the top of a tower.

How long it would take Voldemort to get to this place, once he knew that Harry was here, was another matter. . . .

One of the Snatchers strode to the gates and shook them.

“How do we get in? They’re locked, Greyback, I can’t – blimey!”

He whipped his hands away in fright. The iron was contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice. “State your purpose!”

“We’ve got Potter!” Greyback roared triumphantly. “We’ve captured Harry Potter!”

The gates swung open.

“Come on!” said Greyback to his men, and the prisoners were shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffled their footsteps. Harry stumbled and was dragged onto his feet by Greyback; now he was staggering along sideways, tied back-to-back to the four other prisoners. Closing his puffy eyes, he allowed the pain in his scar to overcome him for a moment, wanting to know what Voldemort was doing, whether he knew yet that Harry was caught. . . .

The emaciated figure stirred beneath its thin blanket and rolled over toward him, eyes opening in a skull of a face. . . . The frail man sat up, great sunken eyes fixed upon him, upon Voldemort, and then he smiled. Most of his teeth were gone. . . .

“So, you have come. I thought you would . . . one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it.”

“You lie!”

As Voldemort’s anger throbbed inside him, Harry’s scar threatened to burst with pain, and he wrenched his mind back to his own body, fighting to remain present as the prisoners were pushed over gravel.

Light spilled out over all of them.

“What is this?” said a woman’s cold voice.

“We’re here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” rasped Greyback.

“Who are you?”

“You know me!” There was resentment in the werewolf’s voice. “Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!”

Greyback seized Harry and dragged him around to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle around too.

“I know ‘es swollen, ma’am, but it’s ‘im!” piped up Scabior. “If you look a bit closer, you’ll see ‘is scar. And this ‘ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who’s been traveling around with ‘im, ma’am. There’s no doubt it’s ‘im, and we’ve got ‘is wand as well! ‘Ere, ma’am –“

Through his puffy eyelids Harry was shocked to see Narcissa Malfoy scrutinizing his swollen face. Scabior thrust the blackthorn wand at her. She raised her eyebrows.

“Bring them in,” she said.

Harry and the others were shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits.

“Follow me,” said Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. “The Parkinson’s daughter, Pansy, is home for her Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, she will know.”

The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside; even with his eyes almost closed Harry could make out the wide proportions of the room. A ragged and spider webbed crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more paintings against the dark blue walls. Two figures rose from chairs in front of an ornate granite fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by the Snatchers.

“What is this?”

The vaguely familiar voice of Mrs Parkinson fell on Harry’s ears. He was panicking now, what if Draco’s Mum really had gone back over to the other side, now that Draco had left him. At least it was easier, as his fear mounted, to block out Voldemort’s thoughts, though his scar was still burning.

“They say they’ve got Potter, but it seems unlikely to me,” said Narcissa’s cold voice. “Pansy, come here.”

Harry did not dare look directly at Pansy, but saw her obliquely; a figure slightly smaller than he was, rising from an armchair, her face a pale and drawn blur beneath black hair.

Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again so as to place Harry directly beneath the chandelier.

“Well, girl?” rasped the werewolf.

Harry was facing a large stained mirror hung on the wall, a great gilded thing in an intricately scrolled frame. Through the slits of his eyes he saw his own reflection for the first time since leaving Grimmauld Place.

His face was huge, shiny, and pink, every feature distorted by Hermione’s jinx.

His black hair reached his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Had he not known that it was he who stood there, he would have wondered who was wearing his glasses. He resolved not to speak, for his voice was sure to give him away; yet he still avoided eye contact with Pansy as the latter approached.

“Well, Pansy?” said Mrs Parkinson. She sounded avid. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”

“I can’t – I can’t be sure,” said Pansy. She was keeping her distance from Greyback, and seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at her.

“But look at him carefully, look! Come closer! Pansy, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, he will realise –“

“Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope Mrs. Parkinson?” said Greyback menacingly.

“Of course not, of course not!” she said impatiently. She approached Harry herself, came so close that Harry could see her hard face in sharp detail even through his swollen eyes. With his face a puffy mask, Harry felt as though he was peering out from between the bars of a cage.

“What did you do to him?” Narcissa asked Greyback. “How did he get into this state?”

“That wasn’t us.”

“Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me,” said Mrs Parkinson. Her dark eyes raked Harry’s forehead. “There’s something there,” she whispered. “it could be the scar, stretched tight. . . . Pansy, come here, look properly! What do you think?”

Harry saw Pansy’s face up close now, right beside her mother’s. They were extraordinarily alike, except that while her mother looked beside herself with excitement, Pansy’s expression was full of reluctance, even fear.

“I don’t know,” she said, and she walked away toward the fireplace where Narcissa stood watching.

“We had better be certain, Margery,” Narcissa called to Mrs Parkinson in her cold, clear voice. “Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord . . . They say this is his” – she was looking closely at the blackthorn wand – “but it does not resemble Ollivander’s description. . . . If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing . . . Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?”

“What about the Mudblood, then?” growled Greyback. Harry was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Hermione instead.

“Wait,” said Mrs Parkinson sharply. “Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Pansy isn’t it the Granger girl?”

“I . . . maybe . . . ”

“And then, that must be the Weasley boy!” she continued striding around the bound prisoners to face Ron. “Potter’s friends – Pansy, look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name – ?”

“I suppose,” said Pansy again, her back to the prisoners. “It could be.”

The drawing room door opened behind Harry. A woman spoke, and the sound of the voice wound Harry’s fear to an even higher pitch.

“What is this? What’s happened, Cissy?”

Bellatrix Lestrange walked slowly around the prisoners, and stopped on Harry’s right, staring at Hermione through her heavily lidded eyes,

“But surely,” she said quietly, “this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?”

“Yes, yes, it’s Granger!” cried Mrs Parkinson, “And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!”

“Potter?” shrieked Bellatrix, and she backed away, the better to take in Harry. “Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!”

She dragged back her left sleeve: Harry saw the Dark Mark burned into the flesh of her arm, and knew that she was about to touch it, to summon her beloved master–

“I was about to call him!” said Mrs Parkinson, and her hand actually closed upon Bellatrix’s wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. “I shall summon him, Bellatrix. Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority –“

“Your authority!” she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand back. “Your family have no authority! How dare you! Take your hands off me!”

“This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy –“

“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Parkinson,” interjected Greyback, “but it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold –“

“Gold!” laughed Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off Pansy’s Mother, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. “Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honour of his – of –“

She stopped struggling, her dark eyes fixed upon something Harry could not see.

Jubilant at her capitulation, Mrs Parkinson threw her hand from her and ripped up her own sleeve–

“STOP!” shrieked Bellatrix, “Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!”

Mrs Parkinson froze, her index finger hovering over her own Mark. Bellatrix strode out of Harry’s limited line of vision.

“What is that?” he heard her say.

“Sword,” grunted an out-of-sight Snatcher.

“Give it to me.”

“It’s not yours, missus, it’s mine, I reckon I found it.”

There was a bang and a flash of red light; Harry knew that the Snatcher had been Stunned. There was a roar of anger from his fellows: Scabior drew his wand.

“What d’you think you’re playing at, woman?”

“Stupefy! ” she screamed, ”Stupefy!”

They were no match for her, even thought there were four of them against one of her: She was a witch, as Harry knew, with prodigious skill and no conscience. They fell where they stood, all except Greyback, who had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. Out of the corners of his eyes Harry saw Bellatrix bearing down upon the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor gripped tightly in her hand, her face waxen. Behind her Narcissa Malfoy looked unexpectedly shaken.

“Where did you get this sword?” she whispered to Greyback as she pulled his wand out of his unresisting grip.

“How dare you?” he snarled, his mouth the only thing that could move as he was forced to gaze up at her. He bared his pointed teeth. “Release me, woman!”

“Where did you find this sword?” she repeated, brandishing it in his face, “Dolores Umbridge sent it to my vault in Gringotts!”

“It was in their tent,” rasped Greyback. “Release me, I say!”

She waved her wand, and the werewolf sprang to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach her. He prowled behind an armchair, his filthy curved nails clutching its back.

“Parkinson, move this scum outside,” said Bellatrix, indicating the unconscious men. “If you haven’t got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me.”

Unsure which of them was being spoken to, Pansy and her Mother hovered uncertainly over the unconscious bodies for a moment before both starting to levitate them out of the room.

“Why don’t I take the prisoners –“ began Narcissa, but Bellatrix screamed.

“Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!”

She stood, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt.

Then she turned to look at the silent prisoners.

“If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed,” she muttered, more to herself than to the others. “The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself. . . . But if he finds out . . . I must . . . I must know. . . .”

She turned back to her sister again.

“The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!”

“Of course, I shall...” began Narcissa.

“No!” screamed Bellatrix. “You have no idea of the danger we’re in! Stay here, with me. Send the wolf.”

Narcissa hesitated for a moment, then addressed the werewolf. “Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback.”

“Wait,” said Bellatrix sharply. “All except. . . . except for the Mudblood.”

Greyback gave a grunt of pleasure.

“No!” shouted Ron. “You can have me, keep me!”

Bellatrix hit him across the face: the blow echoed around the room. “If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,” she said. “Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet.”

She threw Greyback’s wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room, while Greyback forced the rest of them to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.

“Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?” Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor. “I’d say I’ll get a bite or two, wouldn’t you, ginger?”

Harry could feel Ron shaking. They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking their necks at any moment. At the bottom was a heavy door. Greyback unlocked it with a tap of his wand, then forced them into a dank and musty room and left them in total darkness. The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not died away before there was a terrible, drawn out scream from directly above them.

“HERMIONE!” Ron bellowed, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying them together, so that Harry staggered. “HERMIONE!”

“Be quiet!” Harry said. “Shut up. Ron, we need to work out a way –“

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”

“We need a plan, stop yelling – we need to get these ropes off –“

“Harry?” came a whisper through the darkness. “Ron? Is that you?”

Ron stopped shouting. There was a sound of movement close by them, then Harry saw a shadow moving closer.

“Harry? Ron?”

“Luna? ”

“Yes, it’s me! Oh no, I didn’t want you to be caught!”

“Luna, can you help us get these ropes off?” said Harry.

“Oh yes, I expect so. . . . There’s an old nail we use if we need to break anything. . . Just a moment . . .”

Hermione screamed again from overhead, and they could hear Bellatrix screaming too, but her words were inaudible, for Ron shouted again, “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”

“Mr. Ollivander?” Harry could hear Luna saying. “Mr. Ollivander, have you got the nail? If you just move over a little bit . . . I think it was beside the water jug.”

She was back within seconds.

“You’ll need to stay still,” she said.

Harry could feel her digging at the rope’s tough fibres to work the knots free. From upstairs they heard Bellatrix’s voice. “I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?”

“We found it – we found it – PLEASE!” Hermione screamed again; Ron struggled harder than ever, and the rusty nail slipped onto Harry’s wrist.

“Ron, please stay still!” Luna whispered. “I can’t see what I’m doing –“

“My pocket!” said Ron, “In my pocket, there’s a Deluminator, and it’s full of light!”

A few seconds later, there was a click, and the luminescent spheres the Deluminator had sucked from the lamps in the tent flew into the cellar: Unable to rejoin their sources, they simply hung there, like tiny suns, flooding the underground room with light. Harry saw Luna, all eyes in her white face, and the motionless figure of Ollivander the wandmaker, curled up on the floor in the corner. Craning around, he caught sight of their fellow prisoners: Dean and Griphook the goblin, who seemed barely conscious, kept standing by the ropes that bound him to the humans.

“Oh, that’s much easier, thanks, Ron,” said Luna, and she began hacking at their bindings again. “Hello, Dean!”

From above came Bellatrix’s voice.

“You’re lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!”

Another terrible scream–

“HERMIONE!”

“What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!”

“There!”

Harry felt the ropes fall away and turned, rubbing his wrists, to see Ron running around the cellar, looking up at the low ceiling, searching for a trapdoor. Dean, his face bruised and bloody, said “Thanks” to Luna and stood there, shivering, but Griphook sank onto the cellar floor, looking groggy and disoriented, many welts across his swarthy face.

Ron was now trying to Disapparate without a wand.

“There’s no way out, Ron,” said Luna, watching his fruitless efforts. “The cellar is completely escape-proof. I tried, at first. Mr. Ollivander has been here for a long time, he’s tried everything.”

Hermione was screaming again: The sound went through Harry like physical pain. Barely conscious of the fierce prickling of his scar, he too started to run around the cellar, feeling the walls for he hardly knew what, knowing in his heart that it was useless.

“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO! ”

Hermione’s screams echoed off the walls upstairs, Ron was half sobbing as he pounded the walls with his fists, and Harry in utter desperation seized Hagrid’s pouch from around his neck and groped inside it: He pulled out Dumbledore’s Snitch and shook it, hoping for he did not know what – nothing happened – he waved the broken halves of the phoenix wand, but they were lifeless –

Upstairs Hermione was screaming worse than ever, and next to him Ron was bellowing, “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”

“How did you get into my vault?” they heard Bellatrix scream. “Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?”

“We only met him tonight!” Hermione sobbed. “We’ve never been inside your vault. . . . It isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!”

“A copy?” screeched Bellatrix. “Oh, a likely story!”

“But we can find out easily!” came Narcissa’s voice. “I will fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!”

Harry dashed across the cellar to where Griphook was huddled on the floor.

“Griphook,” he whispered into the goblin’s pointed ear, “you must tell them that sword’s a fake, they mustn’t know it’s the real one, Griphook, please –“

He could hear someone coming down the cellar steps; next moment, Narcissa Malfoy’s voice spoke from behind the door.

“Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!”

They did as they were bidden; as the lock turned, Ron clicked the Deluminator and the lights whisked back into his pocket, restoring the cellar’s darkness. The door flew open; Narcissa glided inside, wand held out in front of her, pale and confident. She seized the little goblin by the arm and backed out again, dragging Griphook with her. Just as she shut the door Harry thought he saw her catch his eye and make the smallest of nods.

The door slammed shut and at the same moment a loud crack echoed inside the cellar.

Ron clicked the Deluminator. Three balls of light flew back into the air from his pocket, revealing Dobby the house-elf, who had just Apparated into their midst.

“DOB – !”

Harry hit Ron on the arm to stop him shouting, and Ron looked terrified at his mistake. Footsteps crossed the ceiling overhead: Narcissa marching Griphook to Bellatrix.

Dobby’s enormous, tennis-ball shaped eyes were wide; he was trembling from his feet to the tips of his ears. It was clear that he was petrified.

“Harry Potter,” he squeaked in the tiniest quiver of a voice, “Dobby has come to rescue you.”

“But how did you – ?”

An awful scream drowned Harry’s words: Hermione was being tortured again. He cut to the essentials.

“You can Disapparate out of this cellar?” he asked Dobby, who nodded, his ears flapping.

“And you can take humans with you?”

Dobby nodded again.

“Right. Dobby, I want you to grab Luna, Dean, and Mr. Ollivander, and take them – take them to –“

“Bill and Tonks’s,” said Ron. “Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth!”

The elf nodded for a third time.

“And then come back,” said Harry. “Can you do that, Dobby?”

“Of course, Harry Potter,” whispered the little elf. He hurried over to Mr. Ollivander, who appeared to be barely conscious. He took one of the wandmaker’s hands in his own, then held out the other to Luna and Dean, neither of whom moved.

“Harry, we want to help you!” Luna whispered.

“We can’t leave you here,” said Dean.

“Go, both of you! We’ll see you at Bill and Tonks’.”

As Harry spoke, his scar burned worse than ever, and for a few seconds he looked down, not upon the wandmaker, but on another man who was just as old, just as thin, but laughing scornfully.

“Kill me, then. Voldemort, I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek. . . . There is so much you do not understand. . .”

He felt Voldemort’s fury, but as Hermione screamed again he shut it out, returning to the cellar and the horror of his own present.

“Go!” Harry beseeched to Luna and Dean. “Go! We’ll follow, just go!”

They caught hold of the elf’s outstretched fingers. There was another loud crack, and Dobby, Luna, Dean, and Ollivander vanished.

“What was that?” shouted Mrs Parkinson from over their heads. “Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?”

Harry and Ron stared at each other.

Then Bellatrix spoke, “Narcissa, no, stay here. Parkinson – go and check!”

Footsteps crossed the room overhead, then there was silence. Harry knew that the people in the drawing room were listening for more noises from the cellar.

“We’re going to have to try and tackle her,” he whispered to Ron. They had no choice: The moment anyone entered the room and saw the absence of three prisoners, they were lost. “Leave the lights on,” Harry added, and as they heard someone descending the steps outside the door, they backed against the wall on either side of it.

“Stand back,” came Mrs Parkinson’s voice. “Stand away from the door. I’m coming in.”

The door flew open. For a split second Mrs Parkinson gazed into the apparently empty cellar, ablaze with light from the three miniature suns floating in mid-air. Then Harry and Ron launched themselves upon her. Ron seized her wand arm and forced it upwards.

Harry slapped a hand to her mouth, muffling her voice. Silently they struggled: suddenly Harry noticed Pansy stood on the bottom stair, dumbstruck, her wand at her side.

“What is it, Parkinson?” called Bellatrix from above.

Before Harry could do anything Pansy called back, “Nothing! All fine!”

They stared at her in shock, even as Mrs Parkinson was trying unsuccessfully to strangle Harry with her free hand.

She pointed her own wand at her Mother and whispered, “Stupefy.”

Mrs Parkinson slithered to the ground.

“And we’ll have that,” whispered Ron, tugging Mrs Parkinson’s wand from her hand.

Pansy and Harry stared at each other.

“Where’s Draco?” Pansy whispered.

“I… I don’t know...” said Harry. “We got separated.” He didn’t want to tell her Draco had left, not if it might make her change her mind about helping them.

“He’s all right though?”

“He was… last time I saw him.”

Pansy suddenly raised her wand again, pointed it at her Mother and whispered, “Obliviate.” She looked back up at Harry. “You better fight me now.”

“What?”

“Fight me!” and she cast another Stupefy towards them, missing them and hitting the wall.

Harry leapt at her and struggled for possession of her wand. She fought back unexpectedly hard, clearly not willing to give up her wand. She scratched his arm with her nails, but eventually he wrested it out of her grasp and threw her to the ground next to her Mother. He pointed the wand at her and was amazed that it responded quite easily to his gasped, “Stupefy.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then leaving the bodies on the floor behind them, ran up the stairs and back into the shadowy passageway leading to the drawing room. Cautiously they crept along it until they reached the drawing room door, which was ajar. Now they had a clear view of Bellatrix looking down at Griphook, who was holding Gryffindor’s sword in his long-fingered hands. Hermione was lying at Bellatrix’s feet. She was barely stirring.

“Well?” Bellatrix said to Griphook. “Is it the true sword?”

Harry waited, holding his breath, fighting against the prickling of his scar.

“No,” said Griphook. “It is a fake.”

“Are you sure?” panted Bellatrix. “Quite sure?”

“Yes,” said the goblin.

Relief broke across her face, all tension drained from it.

“Good,” she said, and with a casual flick of her wand she slashed another deep cut into the goblin’s face, and he dropped with a yell at her feet. She kicked him aside. “And now,” she said in a voice that burst with triumph, “we call the Dark Lord!”

And she pushed back her sleeve and touched her forefinger to the Dark Mark.

At once, Harry’s scar felt as though it had split open again. His true surroundings vanished: He was Voldemort, and the skeletal wizard before him was laughing toothlessly at him; he was enraged at the summons he felt – he had warned them, he had told them to summon him for nothing less than Potter. If they were mistaken . . .

“Kill me, then!” demanded the old man. “You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never, ever be yours –“

And Voldemort’s fury broke: A burst of green light filled the prison room and the frail old body was lifted from its hard bed and then fell back, lifeless, and Voldemort returned to the window, his wrath barely controllable. . . . They would suffer his retribution if they had no good reason for calling him back. .. .

“And I think,” said Bellatrix’s voice, “we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Ron had burst into the drawing room; Bellatrix looked around, shocked; she turned her wand to face Ron instead –

“Expelliarmus!” he roared, pointing Mrs Parkinson’s wand at Bellatrix, and hers flew into the air and was caught by Harry, who had sprinted after Ron.

Narcissa, and Greyback wheeled about; Harry yelled, “Stupefy!” and Greyback collapsed onto the hearth. A jet of light flew from Narcissa’s wand; Harry threw himself to the floor, rolling behind a sofa to avoid it.

“STOP OR SHE DIES!”

Panting, Harry peered around the edge of the sofa. Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife to Hermione’s throat.

“Drop your wands,” she whispered. “Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is!”

Ron stood rigid, clutching Mrs Parkinson’s wand. Harry straightened up, still holding Pansy’s.

“I said, drop them!” she screeched, pressing the blade into Hermione’s throat: Harry saw beads of blood appear there.

“All right!” he shouted, and he dropped Pansy’s and Bellatrix’s wands onto the floor at his feet, Ron did the same with Mrs Parkinson’s. Both raised their hands to shoulder height.

“Good!” she leered. “Narcissa, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!”

Harry knew it; his scar was bursting with the pain of it, and he could feel Voldemort flying through the sky from far away, over a dark and stormy sea, and soon he would be close enough to Apparate to them, and Harry could see no way out.

“Now,” said Bellatrix softly, as Narcissa walked slowly back to her with the wands. Greyback was already stirring awake from Harry’s hex.

“Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight.”

At the last word there was a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Bellatrix was directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, she threw herself aside with a scream. The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin, who still clutched the sword of Gryffindor.

Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions; Narcissa doubled over, one hand covering her bloody face.

As Ron ran to pull Hermione out of the wreckage, Harry took the chance: He leapt over an armchair and wrested all three wands from Narcissa’s grip, pointed all of them at Greyback, and yelled, “Stupefy!” again. The werewolf was lifted off his feet by the triple spell, flew up to the ceiling and then smashed to the ground.

As Narcissa dragged herself out of the way of further harm, her hands still covering her bloody face, Bellatrix sprang to her feet, her hair flying as she brandished the silver knife.

“An elf!” she screamed as Dobby trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at Bellatrix.

“You must not hurt Harry Potter,” he squeaked.

“Kill him, Cissy!” shrieked Bellatrix, but Narcissa was in no shape to respond.

“You dirty little monkey!” bawled Bellatrix. “How dare you defy your masters?”

“Dobby has no master!” squealed the elf. “Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”

Harry’s scar was blinding him with pain. Dimly he knew that they had moments, seconds before Voldemort was with them.

“Ron, catch – and GO!” he yelled, throwing one of the wands to him; then he bent down to tug Griphook out from under the chandelier. Hoisting the groaning goblin, who still clung to the sword, over one shoulder, Harry seized Dobby’s hand and spun on the spot to Disapparate.

As he turned into darkness he caught one last view of the drawing room of the pale, frozen figure of Narcissa, of the streak of red that was Ron’s hair, and a blue of flying silver, as Bellatrix’s knife flew across the room at the place where he was vanishing –

Bill and Tonks . . . Shell Cottage . . . Bill and Tonks . . .

He had disappeared into the unknown; all he could do was repeat the name of the destination and hope that it would suffice to take him there. The pain in his forehead pierced him, and the weight of the goblin bore down upon him; he could feel the blade of Gryffindor’s sword bumping against his back: Dobby’s hand jerked in his; he wondered whether the elf was trying to take charge, to pull them in the right direction, and tried, by squeezing the fingers, to indicate that that was fine with them. . . .

And then they hit solid earth and smelled salty air. Harry fell to his knees, relinquished Dobby’s hand, and attempted to lower Griphook gently to the ground.

“Are you all right?” he said as the goblin stirred, but Griphook merely whimpered.

Harry squinted around through the darkness. There seemed to be a cottage a short way away under the wide starry sky, and he thought he saw movement outside it.

“Dobby, is this Shell Cottage?” he whispered, clutching the two wands he had brought from the Parkinsons’, ready to fight if he needed to. “Have we come to the right place? Dobby?”

He looked around. The little elf stood feet from him.

“DOBBY!”

The elf swayed slightly, stars reflected in his wide, shining eyes. Together, he and Harry looked down at the silver hilt of the knife protruding from the elf’s heaving chest.

“Dobby – no – HELP!” Harry bellowed toward the cottage, toward the people moving there. “HELP!”

He did not know or care whether they were wizards or Muggles, friends or foes; all he cared about was that a dark stain was spreading across Dobby’s front, and that he had stretched out his own arms to Harry with a look of supplication. Harry caught him and laid him sideways on the cool grass.

“Dobby, no, don’t die, don’t die –“

The elf’s eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words.

“Harry . . . Potter . . .”

And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great glassy orbs, sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.”

  



	8. The Lost Diadem

"There's only one way in now," said Aberforth. "You must know they've got all the old secret passageways covered at both ends, dementors all around the boundary walls, regular patrols inside the school from what my sources tell me. The place has never been so heavily guarded. How you expect to do anything once you get inside it, with Umbridge in charge and the Carrows as her deputies. . . well, that's your lookout, isn't it? You say you're prepared to die."

"But what . . . ?" said Hermione, frowning at Ariana's picture.

A tiny white dot reappeared at the end of the painted tunnel, and now Ariana was walking back toward them, growing bigger and bigger as she came. But there was somebody else with her now, someone taller than she was, who was limping along, looking excited. His hair was longer than Harry had ever seen. He appeared and torn. Larger and larger the two figures grew, until only their heads and shoulders filled the portrait.

Then the whole thing swung forward on the wall like a little door, and the entrance to a real tunnel was revealed. And out of it, his hair overgrown, his face cut, his robes ripped, clambered the real Neville Longbottom, who gave a roar of delight, leapt down from the mantelpiece and yelled. "I knew you'd come back! I knew it, Harry! "

“Neville -- what the -- how -- ?”

But Neville had spotted Ron and Hermione, and with yells of delight was hugging them too. The longer Harry looked at Neville, the worse he appeared: One of his eyes was swollen yellow and purple, there were gouge marks on his face, and his general air of unkemptness suggested that he had been living rough. Nevertheless, his battered visage shone with happiness as he let go of Hermione and said again, “I knew you’d come! Kept telling Seamus it was a matter of time!”

“Neville, what’s happened to you?”

“What? This?” Neville dismissed his injuries with a shake of the head. “This is nothing, Seamus is worse. You’ll see. Shall we get going then? Oh,” he turned to Aberforth, “Ab, there might be a couple more people on the way.”

“Couple more?” repeated Aberforth ominously. “What d’you mean, a couple more, Longbottom? There’s a curfew and a Caterwauling Charm on the whole village!”

“I know, that’s why they’ll be Apparating directly into the bar,” said Neville. “Just send them down the passage when they get here, will you? Thanks a lot.”

Neville held out his hand to Hermione and helped her to climb up onto the mantelpiece and into the tunnel; Ron followed, then Neville. Harry addressed Aberforth. “I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve saved our lives.”

“Look after ‘em, then,” said Aberforth gruffly. “I might not be able to save ‘em a second time.”

Harry chambered up onto the mantelpiece and through the hole behind Ariana’s portrait. There were smooth stone steps on the other side: It looked as though the passageway had been there for years. Brass lamps hung from the walls and the earthy floor was worn and smooth; as they walked, their shadows rippled, fanlike, across the wall.

“How long’s this been here?” Ron asked as they set off. “It isn’t on the Marauder’s Map, is it Harry? I thought there were only seven passages in and out of school?”

“They sealed off all of those not long after the start of the year, you were lucky you made it in before when you did,” said Neville. “There’s no chance of getting through any of them now, not with the curses over the entrances and Death Eaters and even dementors now waiting at the exits.” He started walking backward, beaming, drinking them in. “Never mind that stuff ... Is it true? Did you break into Gringotts? Did you escape on a dragon? It’s everywhere, everyone’s talking about it, Terry Boot got beaten up by Carrow for yelling about it in the Great Hall at dinner!”

“Yeah, it’s true,” said Harry.

Neville laughed gleefully. “What did you do with the dragon?”

“Released it into the wild,” said Ron. “Hermione was all for keeping it as a pet“

“Don’t exaggerate, Ron –“

“But what have you been doing? People have been saying you’ve just been on the run, Harry, but I don’t think so. I think you’ve been up to something.”

“You’re right,” said Harry, “but tell us about Hogwarts, Neville, we haven’t heard much.”

“It’s been .... Well, it’s not really like Hogwarts anymore,” said Neville, the smile fading from his face as he spoke. “You know the Carrows.”

“Those two Death Eaters who teach here?”

“They do more than teach,” said Neville. “They’re in charge of all discipline. They like punishment, the Carrows.”

“Like Umbridge? She just about got me thrown in Azkaban for fighting off those Dementors in fifth year.”

“Nah, they make her look tame. The other teachers are all supposed to refer us to the Carrows if we do anything wrong. They don’t, though, if they can avoid it. You can tell they all hate them as much as we do. Amycus, the bloke, he teaches what used to be Defence Against the Dark Arts, except now it’s just the Dark Arts. We’re supposed to practice the Cruciatus Curse on people who’ve earned detentions – “

“What?” Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s united voices echoed up and down the passage.

“Yeah,” said Neville. “That’s how I got this one,” he pointed at a particularly deep gash in his cheek, “I refused to do it. Some people are into it, though; Crabbe and Goyle love it. First time they’ve ever been top in anything, I expect.”

“Alecto, Amycus’s sister, teaches Muggle Studies, which is compulsory for everyone. We’ve all got to listen to her explain how Muggles are like animals, stupid and dirty, and how they drive wizards into hiding by being vicious toward them, and how the natural order is being re-established. I got this one,” he indicated another slash to his face, “for asking her how much Muggle blood she and her brother have got.”

“Blimey, Neville,” said Ron, “there’s a time and a place for getting a smart mouth.”

“You didn’t see her,” said Neville. “You wouldn’t have stood it either. The thing is, it helps when people stand up to them, it gives everyone hope. I used to notice that when you did it, Harry.”

“But they’ve used you as a knife sharpener,” said Ron, wincing slightly as they passed a lamp and Neville’s injuries were thrown into even greater relief.

Neville shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. They don’t want to spill too much pure blood, so they’ll torture us a bit if we’re mouthy but they won’t actually kill us.”

Harry did not know what was worse, the things that Neville was saying or the matter-of-fact tone in which he said them.

“The only people in real danger are the ones whose friends and relatives on the outside are giving trouble. They get taken hostage. Old Xeno Lovegood was getting a bit too outspoken in The Quibbler, so they dragged Luna off the train on the way back for Christmas.”

“Neville, she’s all right, we’ve seen her –“

“Yeah, I know, we heard from Sirius. He stays in touch with the Order outside the school when he can. He’s helped us out loads. Gave us the Marauders Map to use. We used to sneak out at night and put graffiti on the walls: Dumbledore’s Army, Still Recruiting, stuff like that. Umbridge hated it.”

“You used to?” said Harry, who had noticed the past tense.

“Well, it got more difficult as time went one,” said Neville. “We lost Luna at Christmas, and Ginny never came back after Easter, and the three of us were sort of the leaders. The Carrows seemed to know I was behind a lot of it, so they started coming down on me hard, and then Michael Corner went and got caught releasing a first-year they’d chained up, and they tortured him pretty badly. That scared people off.”

“No kidding,” muttered Ron, as the passage began to slope upward.

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t ask people to go through what Michael did, so we dropped those kinds of stunts. But we were still fighting, doing underground stuff, right up until a couple of weeks ago. That’s when they decided there was only one way to stop me, I suppose, and they went for Gran.”

“They what?” said Harry, Ron, and Hermione together.

“Yeah,” said Neville, panting a little now, because the passage was climbing so steeply, “well, you can see their thinking. It had worked really well, kidnapping kids to force their relatives to behave. I s’pose it was only a matter of time before they did it the other way around. Thing was,” he faced them, and Harry was astonished to see that he was grinning, “they bit off a bit more than they could chew with Gran. Little old witch living alone, they probably thought hey didn’t need to send anyone particularly powerful. Anyway,” Neville laughed, “Dawlish is still in St. Mungo’s and Gran’s on the run. She sent me a letter,” he clapped a hand to the breast pocket of his robes, “telling me she was proud of me, that I’m my parent’s son, and to keep it up.”

“Cool,” said Ron.

“Yeah,” said Neville happily. “Only thing was, once they realized they had no hold over me, they decided Hogwarts could do without me after all. I don’t know whether they were planning to kill me or send me to Azkaban, either way, I knew it was time to disappear.”

“But,” said Ron, looking thoroughly confused, “aren’t – aren’t we heading straight back for Hogwarts?”

“’Course,” said Neville. “You’ll see. We’re here.”

They turned a corner and there ahead of them was the end of the passage. Another short flight of steps led to a door just like the one hidden behind Ariana’s portrait. Neville pushed it open and climbed through. As Harry followed, he heard Neville call out for unseen people: “Look who it is! Didn’t I tell you?”

As Harry emerged into the room behind the passage, there were several screams and yells: “HARRY!” “It’s Potter, it’s POTTER!” “Ron!” “Hermione! ”

He had a confused impression of coloured hangings, of lamps and many faces. The next moment, he, Ron, and Hermione were engulfed, hugged, pounded on the back, their hair ruffled, their hands shaken, by what seemed to be more than twenty people. They might have just won a Quidditch final.

“Okay, okay, calm down!” Neville called, and as the crowd backed away, Harry was able to take in their surroundings. That was when he saw Draco, sitting silently away from the crowds of excited students, watching them, his face unreadable.

“Draco!” said Hermione, noticing him at the same time as Harry did.

“Granger,” said Draco quietly, but his eyes didn’t move from Harry.

Harry took a couple of awkward steps forward, feeling drawn toward the other boy as if by some sort of invisible force.

Behind him he heard Hermione trying to distract everyone with more questions, Ron joining in as he realised what she was doing. The room seemed to be trying to help as the corner where Draco was sat somehow seemed sheltered and slightly cut off from the rest of the room. Before Harry knew it he was standing only a foot away and he was hardly aware of the people still talking behind him.

“How long have you been here?” he asked finally.

Draco shrugged a shoulder. “A while.”

“I was worried, I wish you’d found a way to tell me where you were.”

Draco looked at his hands.

After another long moment of awkward silence Harry dropped to his knees to try and catch Draco’s downward gaze, his hands going to Draco’s. “Please, Draco.”

Draco met his eyes. “Please what?” he said. “You had a job to do, and I was getting in the way. It was better I was elsewhere.”

“It’s never better when you’re not there,” Harry said fervently.

He felt Draco’s hands tighten on his a little in response.

“I missed you, I missed you so much.”

Draco said nothing, but didn’t let go of Harry’s hands.

“You know I’m not interested in Ginny, don’t you? You know that now?”

“Aren’t you though?” said Draco. “I mean you’ve thought about it haven’t you?”

“No,” said Harry decisively. “Not the way you think and not in ages anyway. I’m not bi, Draco. That’s what I was thinking about, wondering, and not cause I wanted to do anything with any girl, just cause I wondered. But I thought about it, and I don’t want that, not with Ginny or Cho or any girl. Kissing them, it’s not the same, not at all the same as with you… don’t you remember that first time you kissed me? It changed everything for me, I wouldn’t even know how to start describing how it felt. I couldn’t stop wanting to do it again and again. Kissing Ginny… it was just … all right. I wouldn’t want to do it again, or do anything else with her… I couldn’t. I’m gay, and I’m in love with you.”

Draco’s face looked hopeful for the first time since they had arrived. “You’re sure.”

“I couldn’t be more sure. If you still want me that is.”

“I’m sorry,” said Draco.

For a moment Harry looked horrified.

“No!” said Draco quickly. “I mean I’m sorry for walking out on you! Yes, I still want you. I’ve missed you too. So much.” And he quickly kissed Harry before either of them messed things up again.

A kiss that swiftly merged into a full out snogging session, neither caring about anything past how long it had been since they had touched one another. Until finally there was a loud coughing noise right behind them.

“If we’re finished making up, maybe we could get to why we’re here?” said Hermione, sounding amused.

Harry finally broke away and climbed out of Draco’s lap, blushing. He turned to take the room in. He did not recognize the dorm at all. It was enormous, and looked rather like the interior of a particularly sumptuous tree house, or perhaps a gigantic ship’s cabin.

Multicoloured hammocks were strung from the ceiling and from the balcony that ran around the dark wood-panelled and windowless walls, which were covered in bright tapestry hangings. Harry saw the gold Gryffindor lion, emblazoned on scarlet; the black badger of Hufflepuff, set against yellow; and the bronze eagle of Ravenclaw, on blue. The silver and green of Slytherin alone were absent. There were bulging bookcases, a few broomsticks propped against the walls, and in the corner, a large wood-cased wireless.

“Where are we?”

“Room of Requirement,” said Hermione. “If you’d been paying attention you would have heard all about it. But suffice to say Neville’s really got the hang of getting the room to do what he needs.”

Now that he looked around properly, he recognized many familiar faces. Both Patil twins were there, as were Lavender Brown, Seamus, Terry Boot, Ernie Macmillan, Anthony Goldstein, and Michael Corner.

“Tell us what you’ve been up to, though,” said Ernie. “There’ve been so many rumours, we’ve been trying to keep up with you on Potterwatch.” He pointed at the wireless. “You didn’t break into Gringotts?”

“They did!” said Neville. “And the dragon’s true too!”

There was a smattering of applause and a few whoops; Ron took a bow.

“What were you after?” asked Seamus eagerly.

Before any of them could parry the question with one of their own, Harry felt a terrible, scorching pain in the lightning scar. As he turned his back hastily on the curious and delighted faces, the Room of Requirement vanished, and he was standing inside a ruined stone shack, and the rotting floorboards were ripped apart at his feet, a disinterred golden box lay open and empty beside the hole, and Voldemort’s scream of fury vibrated inside his head.

With an enormous effort he pulled out of Voldemort’s mind again, back to where he stood, swaying, in the Room of Requirement, sweat pouring from his face and Draco holding him up.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Neville was saying. “What to sit down? I expect you’re tired, aren’t -- ?”

“No,” said Harry. He looked at Ron and Hermione, trying to tell them without words that Voldemort had just discovered the loss of one of the other Horcruxes. Time was running out fast: If Voldemort chose to visit Hogwarts next, they would miss their chance.

“We need to get going,” he said, and their expressions told him that they understood.

“What are we going to do, then, Harry?” asked Seamus. “What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” repeated Harry. He was exercising all his willpower to prevent himself succumbing again to Voldemort’s rage: His scar was still burning.

“Well, there’s something we – Ron, Draco, Hermione, and I – need to do, and then we’ll get out of here.”

Nobody was laughing or whooping anymore. Neville looked confused. “What d’you mean, ‘get out of here’?”

“We haven’t come back to stay,” said Harry, rubbing his scar, trying to soothe the pain. “There’s something important we need to do – “

“What is it?”

“I – I can’t tell you.”

There was a ripple of muttering at this: Neville’s brows contracted.

“Why can’t you tell us? It’s something to do with fighting You-Know-Who, right?”

“Well, yeah – “

“Then we’ll help you.”

The other members of Dumbledore’s Army were nodding, some enthusiastically, others solemnly. A couple of them rose from their chairs to demonstrate their willingness for immediate action.

“You don’t understand,” Harry seemed to have said that a lot in the last few hours. “We – we can’t tell you. We’ve got to do it – alone.”

“Why?” asked Neville.

“Because ... “ In his desperation to start looking for the missing Horcrux, or at least have a private discussion with the others about where they might commence their search. Harry found it difficult to gather his thoughts. His scar was still searing. “Dumbledore left the three… four of us a job,” he said carefully, “and we weren’t supposed to tell – I mean, he wanted us to do it, just us.”

“We’re his army,” said Neville. “Dumbledore’s Army. We were all in it together, we’ve been keeping it going while you three have been off on your own –“

“It hasn’t exactly been a picnic, mate,” said Ron.

“I never said it had, but I don’t see why you can’t trust us. Everyone in this room’s been fighting and they’ve been driven in here because the Carrows were hunting them down. Everyone in here’s proven they’re loyal to Dumbledore – loyal to you.”

“Look,” Harry began, without knowing what he was going to say, but it did not matter. The tunnel door had just opened behind him.

“We got your message, Neville! Hello you three, I thought you must be here!” It was Luna and Dean. Seamus gave a great roar of delight and ran to hug his best friend.

“Hi, everyone!” said Luna happily. “Oh, it’s great to be back!”

“Luna,” said Harry distractedly, “what are you doing here? How did you -- ?”

“I sent for her,” said Neville. “When Aberforth told us you were here we asked Sirius to try and get a message out to the members of the DA that weren’t in school any more. I promised Luna and Ginny that if you turned up I’d let them know. We all thought that if you came back, it would mean revolution. That we were going to overthrow Umbridge and the Carrows.”

“Of course that’s what it means,” said Luna brightly. “Isn’t it, Harry? We’re going to fight them out of Hogwarts?”

“Listen,” said Harry with a rising sense of panic, “I’m sorry, but that’s not what we came back for. There’s something we’ve got to do, and then –“

“You’re going to leave us in this mess?” demanded Michael Corner.

“No!” said Ron. “What we’re doing will benefit everyone in the end, it’s all about trying to get rid of You-Know-Who – “

“Then let us help!” said Neville angrily. “We want to be a part of it!”

There was another noise behind them, and Harry turned. His heart seemed to fall: Ginny was now climbing through the hole in the wall, closely followed by Fred, George, and Lee Jordan. Ginny gave Harry a radiant smile: He had never been less pleased to see her.

“Aberforth’s getting a bit annoyed,” said Fred, raising his hand in answer to several cries of greeting. “He wants a kip, and his bar’s turned into a railway station.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. Right behind Lee Jordan came Harry’s old crush, Cho Chang. She smiled at him too. He glanced quickly to Draco and took his hand, squeezing it in reassurance just in case.

“I got the message,” she said, and she walked over to sit beside Michael Corner.

“So what’s the plan, Harry?” said George.

“There isn’t one,” said Harry, still disoriented by the sudden appearance of all these people, unable to take everything in while his scar was still burning so fiercely.

“Just going to make it up as we go along, are we? My favourite kind,” said Fred.

“You’ve got to stop this!” Harry told Neville. “What did you call them all back for? This is insane – “

“We’re fighting, aren’t we?” said Dean. “The message said Harry was back, and we were going to fight! I’ll have to get a wand, though–“

“You haven’t got a wand--?” began Seamus.

Ron turned suddenly to Harry.

“Why can’t they help?”

“What?”

“They can help.” He dropped his voice and said, so that none of them could hear but Hermione and Draco, “We don’t know where it is. We’ve got to find it fast. We don’t have to tell them it’s a Horcrux.”

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione, who murmured, “I think Ron’s right. We don’t even know what we’re looking for, we need them.” And when Harry looked unconvinced, “You don’t have to do everything alone, Harry.”

Harry thought fast, his scar still prickling, his head threatening to split again. Dumbledore had warned him against telling anyone but Ron, Hermione, and Draco about the Horcruxes. Secrets and lies, that’s how we grew up, and Albus ... he was a natural … Was he turning into Dumbledore, keeping his secrets clutched to his chest, afraid to trust?

“She’s right,” said Draco softly in his ear. “I’ve been in here with them since not long after Christmas, they can help. They don’t need to know everything to do that.”

Dumbledore hadn’t always got things right, he hadn’t seen Pansy succeeding in her task, had thought he could handle her...

“All right,” he said quietly to the others. “Okay,” he called to the room at large, and all noise ceased: Fred and George, who had been cracking jokes for the benefit of those nearest, fell silent, and all of the looked alert, excited.

“There’s something we need to find,” Harry said. “Something – something that’ll help us overthrow You-Know-Who. It’s here at Hogwarts, but we don’t know where. It might have belonged to Ravenclaw. Has anyone heard of an object like that? Has anyone come across something with her eagle on it, for instance?”

He looked hopefully toward the little group of Ravenclaws, to Padma, Michael, Terry, and Cho, but it was Luna who answered, perched on the arm of Ginny’s chair.

“Well, there’s her lost diadem. I told you about it, remember, Harry? The lost diadem of Ravenclaw? Daddy’s trying to duplicate it.”

“Yeah, but the lost diadem,” said Michael Corner, rolling his eyes, “is lost, Luna. That’s sort of the point.”

“When was it lost?” asked Harry.

“Centuries ago, they say,” said Cho, and Harry’s heart sank. “Professor Flitwick says the diadem vanished with Ravenclaw herself. People have looked, but,” she appealed to her fellow Ravenclaws. “Nobody’s ever found a trace of it, have them?”

They all shook their heads.

“Sorry, but what is a diadem?” asked Ron.

“It’s a kind of crown,” said Terry Boot. “Ravenclaw’s was supposed to have magical properties, enhance the wisdom of the wearer.”

“Yes, Daddy’s Wrackspurt siphons – “

But Harry cut across Luna. “And none of you have ever seen anything that looks like it?”

They all shook their heads again. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione and his own disappointment was mirrored back at him. An object that had been lost this long, and apparently without trace, did not seem like a good candidate for the Horcrux hidden in the castle ...

Before he could formulate a new question, however, Cho spoke again. “If you’d like to see what the diadem’s supposed to look like, I could take you up to our common room and show you, Harry. Ravenclaw’s wearing it in her statue.”

Harry’s scar scorched again: For a moment the Room of Requirement swam before him, and he saw instead the dark earth soaring beneath him and felt the great snake wrapped around his shoulders. Voldemort was flying again, whether to the underground lake or here, to the castle, he did not know: Either way, there was hardly any time left.

“He’s on the move,” he said quietly to Draco, Ron and Hermione. He glanced at Cho and then back at them. “Listen, I know it’s not much of a lead, but I’m going to go look at this statue, at least find out what the diadem looks like. Wait for me here and keep, you know – the other one – safe.”

Cho had got to her feet, but Draco said rather quickly, “No, Luna should take Harry, and me too. She seems to know more about it, don’t you, Luna?”

“Oooh, yes, I’d like to,” said Luna happily, as Cho sat down again, looking disappointed.

“Luna can take me, but you stay here, the less of us trying to fit under the cloak the safer it is,” said Harry.

Draco looked like he was considering arguing, but Hermione pulled him away, presumably to fill him in on what he had missed.

“How do we get out?” Harry asked Neville.

“Over here.”

“He led Harry and Luna to a corner, where a small cupboard opened onto a steep staircase. “It comes out somewhere different every day, so they’ve never been able to find it,” he said. “Only trouble is, we never know exactly where we’re going to end up when we go out. Be careful, Harry, they’re always patrolling the corridors at night.” He handed Harry the Marauders Map.

“No problem,” said Harry. “See you in a bit.”

He and Luna hurried up the staircase, which was long, lit by torches, and turned corners in unexpected places. At last they reached what appeared to be solid wall.

“Get under here,” Harry told Luna, pulling out the Invisibility Cloak and throwing it over both of them. He gave the wall a little push.

It melted away at his touch and they slipped outside. Harry glanced back and saw that it had resealed itself at once. They were standing in a dark corridor.

Harry pulled Luna back into the shadows, fumbled in the pouch around his neck, and took out the Marauder’s Map. Holding it close to his nose he searched, and located his and Luna’s dots at last.

“We’re up on the fifth floor,” he whispered, watching Filch moving away from them, a corridor ahead. “Come on, this way.”

They crept off.

Harry had prowled the castle at night many times before, but never had his heart hammered that fast, never had so much depended on his safe passage through the place.

Through squares of moonlight upon the floor, past suits of armour whose helmets creaked at the sound of their soft footsteps, around corners beyond which who knew what lurked. Harry and Luna walked, checking the Marauder’s Map whenever light permitted, twice pausing to allow a ghost to pass without drawing attention to themselves. He expected to encounter an obstacle at any moment; his worst fear was Peeves, and he strained his ears with every step to hear the first, telltale signs of the poltergeist’s approach.

“This way, Harry,” breathed Luna, plucking his sleeve and pulling him toward a spiral staircase.

They climbed in tight, dizzying circles; Harry had never been up here before. At last they reached a door. There was no handle and no keyhole: nothing but a plain expanse of aged wood, and a bronze knocker in the shape an eagle. Luna reached out a pale hand, which looked eerie floating in midair, unconnected to arm or body. She knocked once, and in the silence it sounded to Harry like a cannon blast. At once the beak of the eagle opened, but instead of a bird’s called, a soft, musical voice said, “Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?”

“Hmm ... What do you think, Harry?” said Luna, looking thoughtful.

“What? Isn’t there a password?”

“Oh no, you’ve got to answer a question,” said Luna.

“What if you get it wrong?”

“Well, you have to wait for somebody who gets it right,” said Luna. “That way you learn, you see?”

“Yeah ... Trouble is, we can’t really afford to wait for anyone else, Luna.”

“No, I see what you mean,” said Luna seriously. “Well then, I think the answer is that a circle has no beginning.”

“Well reasoned,” said the voice, and the door swung open.

The deserted Ravenclaw common room was a wide, circular room, airier than any Harry had ever seen at Hogwarts. Graceful arched windows punctuated the walls, which were hung with blue-and-bronze silks. By day, the Ravenclaws would have a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains.

The ceiling was domed and painted with stars, which were echoed in the midnight-blue carpet. There were tables, chairs, and bookcases, and in a niche opposite the door stood a tall statue of white marble.

Harry recognized Rowena Ravenclaw from the bust he had seen at Luna’s house.

The statue stood beside a door that led, he guessed, to dormitories above. He strode right up to the marble woman, and she seemed to look back at him with a quizzical half smile on her face, beautiful yet slightly intimidating. A delicate-looking circlet had been reproduced in marble on top of her head. It was not unlike the tiara Fleur had worn at her wedding. There were tiny words etched into it. Harry stepped out from under the Cloak and climbed up onto Ravenclaw’s plinth to read them.

“’ Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.’”

“Which makes you pretty skint, witless,” said a cackling voice.

Harry whirled around, slipped off the plinth, and landed on the floor. The sloping-shouldered figure of Alecto Carrow was standing before him, and even as Harry raised his wand, she pressed a stubby forefinger to the skull and snake branded on her forearm.

  



	9. The Sacking of Dolores Umbridge

The moment her finger touched the Mark, Harry's scar burned savagely, the starry room vanished from sight, and he was standing upon an outcrop of rock beneath a cliff, and the sea was washing around him and there was a triumph in his heart – They have the boy.

A loud bang brought Harry back to where he stood. Disoriented, he raised his wand, but the witch before him was already falling forward; she hit the ground so hard that the glass in the bookcases tinkled.

“I've never Stunned anyone except in our D.A. lessons,” said Luna, sounding mildly interested. “That was noisier than I though it would be.”

And sure enough, the ceiling had begun to tremble. Scurrying, echoing footsteps were growing louder from behind the door leading to the dormitories. Luna's spell had woken Ravenclaws sleeping above.

“Luna, where are you? I need to get under the Cloak!”

Luna's feet appeared out of nowhere,; he hurried to her side and she let the Cloak fall back over them as the door opened and a stream of Ravenclaws, all in their nightclothes, flooded into the common room. there were gasps and cries of surprise as they saw Alecto lying there unconscious. Slowly they shuffled in around her, a savage beast that might wake at any moment and attack them. Then one brave little first-year darted up to her and prodded her backside with his big toe.

“I think she might be dead!” he shouted with delight.

“Oh look,” whispered Luna happily, as the Ravenclaws crowded in around Alecto. “They're pleased!”

“Yeah... great... “

Harry closed his eyes, and as his scar throbbed he chose to sink again into Voldemort's mind.... He was moving along the tunnel into the first cave.... He had chosen to make sure of the locker before coming...but that would not take him long....

There was a rap on the common room door and every Ravenclaw froze. From the other side, Harry heard the soft, musical voice that issued from the eagle door knocker: “Where do Vanished objects go?”

“I dunno, do I? Shut it!” snarled an uncouth voice that Harry knew was that of the Carrow brother, Amycus, “Alecto? Alecto? Are you there? Have you got him? Open the door!”

The Ravenclaws were whispering amongst themselves, terrified. Then without warning, there came a series of loud bangs, as though somebody was firing a gun into the door.

“ALECTO! If he comes, and we haven't got Potter --d'you want to go the same way as the Parkinsons? ANSWER ME!” Amycus bellowed, shaking the door for all he was worth, but still it did not open. The Ravenclaws were all backing away, and some of the most frightened began scampering back up the stair case to their beds. Then, just as Harry was wondering whether he ought not to blast open the door and Stun Amycus before the Death Eater could do anything else, a second, most familiar voice rang out beyond the door.

“May I ask what you are doing, Professor Carrow?”

“Trying—to get-- through this damned-- door!” shouted Amycus. “Go and get Flitwick! Get him to open it, now!”

“But isn't your sister in there” asked Professor McGonagall. “Didn't Professor Flitwick let her in earlier this evening, at your urgent request? Perhaps she could open the door for you? Then you needn't wake up half the castle.”

“She ain't answering, you old besom! You open it! Garn! Do it, now!”

“Certainly, if you wish it,” said Professor McGonagall, with awful coldness.

There was a genteel tap of the knocker and the musical voice asked again. “Where do Vanished objects go?”

“Into non being, which is to say, everything,” replied Professor McGonagall.

“Nicely phrased,” replied the eagle door knocker, and the door swung open.

The few Ravenclaws who had remained behind sprinted for the stairs as Amycus burst over the threshold, brandishing his wand. Hunched like his sister, he had a pallid, doughy face and tiny eyes, which fell at once on Alecto, sprawled motionless on the floor.

He let out a yell of fury and fear. “What've they done, the little whelps?” he screamed. “I'll Cruciate the lot of 'em till they tell me who did it---and what's the Dark Lord going to say?” he shrieked, standing over his sister and smacking himself on the forehead with his fist, “We haven't got him, and they've gone and killed her!”

“She's only Stunned,” said Professor McGonagall impatiently, who had stooped down to examine Alecto. “She'll be perfectly all right.”

“No she bludgering well won't!” bellowed Amycus. “Not after the Dark Lord gets hold of her! She's gone and sent for him, I felt me Mark burn, and he thinks we've got Potter!”

“'Got Potter'?” said Professor McGonagall sharply, “What do you mean, 'got Potter'?”

“He told us Potter might try and get inside Ravenclaw Tower, and to send for him if we caught him!”

“Why would Harry Potter try to get inside Ravenclaw Tower! Potter belongs in my House!”

Beneath the disbelief and anger, Harry heard a little strain of pride in her voice and affection for Minerva McGonagall gushed up inside him.

“We was told he might come in here!” said Carrow. “I dunno why, do I?”

Professor McGonagall stood up and her beady eyes swept the room. Twice they passed right over the place where Harry and Luna stood.

“We can push it off on the kids,” said Amycus, his pig like face suddenly crafty.

“Yeah, that's what we'll do. We'll say Alecto was ambushed by the kids, them kids up there” -- he looked up at the starry ceiling toward the dormitories -- “ and we'll say they forced her to press her Mark, and that's why he got a false alarm.... He can punish them. Couple of kids more or less, what's the difference?”

“Only the difference between truth and lies, courage and cowardice,” said Professor McGonagall, who had turned pale, “a difference, in short, which you and your sister seem unable to appreciate. But let me make one thing very clear. You are not going to pass off your many ineptitudes on the students of Hogwarts. I shall not permit it.”

“Excuse me?” Amycus moved forward until he was offensively close to Professor McGonagall, his face within inches of hers. She refused to back away, but looked down at him as if he were something disgusting she had found stuck to the lavatory seat. “It's not a case of what you'll permit, Minerva McGonagall. Your time's over. It's us what's in charge here now, and you'll back me up or you'll pay the price.”

And he spat in her face.

Harry pulled the Cloak off himself, raised his wand, and said, “You shouldn't have done that.”

As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!”

The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor.

“I see what Moody meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.”

“Potter!” whispered Professor McGonagall, clutching her heart. “Potter--- you're here! What---? How---?” She struggled to pull herself together. “Potter, that was foolish!”

“He spat at you,” said Harry.

“Potter, I --- that was very --- gallant of you --- but don't you realize --?”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry assured her. Somehow her panic steadied him. “Professor McGonagall, Voldemort's on the way.”

“Oh, are we allowed to say the name now?” asked Luna with an air of interest, pulling off the Invisibility Cloak. The appearance of a second outlaw seemed to overwhelm Professor McGonagall, who staggered backward and fell into a nearby chair, clutching at the neck of her old tartan dressing gown.

“I don't think it makes any difference what we call him,” Harry told Luna. “He already knows where I am.”

In a distant part of Harry's brain, that part connected to the angry, burning scar, he could see Voldemort sailing fast over the dark lake in the ghostly green boat.... He had nearly reached the island where the stone basin stood....

“You must flee,” whispered Professor McGonagall, “Now Potter, as quickly as you can!”

“I can't,” said Harry, “There's something I need to do. Professor, so you know where the diadem of Ravenclaw is?”

“The d-diadem of Ravenclaw? Of course not --- hasn't it been lost for centuries?” She sat up a little straighter “Potter, it was madness, utter madness, for you to enter this castle---”

“I had to,” said Harry. “Professor, there's something hidden here that I'm supposed to find, and it could be the diadem--- if I could just speak to Professor Flitwick---”

There was a sound of movement, of clinking glass. Amycus was coming round.

Before Harry or Luna could act, Professor McGonagall rose to her feet, pointed her wand at the groggy Death Eater, and said, “Imperio.”

Amycus got up, walked over to his sister, picked up her wand, then shuffled obediently to Professor McGonagall and handed it over along with his own.

Then he lay down on the floor beside Alecto. Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, and a length of shimmering silver rope appeared out of thin air and snaked around the Carrows, binding them tightly together.

“Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, turning to face him again with superb indifference to the Carrows' predicament. “if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named does indeed know that you are here---”

As she said it, a wrath that was like physical pain blazed through Harry, setting his scar on fire, and for a second he looked down upon a basin whose potion had turned clear, and saw that no golden locket lay safe beneath the surface---.

“Potter, are you all right.” said a voice, and Harry came back. He was clutching Luna's shoulder to steady himself.

“Time's running out, Voldemort's getting nearer, Professor, I'm acting on Dumbledore's orders, I must find what he wanted me to find! But we've got to get the students out while I'm searching the castle--- It's me Voldemort wants, but he won't care about killing a few more or less, not now---” not now he knows I'm attacking Horcruxes, Harry finished the sentence in his head.

“You're acting on Dumbledore's orders?” she repeated with a look of dawning wonder. Then she drew herself up to her fullest height.

“We shall secure the school against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named while you search for this --- this object.”

“Is that possible?”

“I think so,” said Professor McGonagall dryly, “we teachers are rather good at magic, you know. I am sure we will be able to hold him off for a while if we all put our best efforts into it. Of course, something will have to be done about Professor Umbridge--- and if Hogwarts is about to enter a state of siege, with the Dark Lord at the gates, it would indeed be advisable to take as many innocent people out of the way as possible. With the Floo Network under observation, and Apparition impossible within the grounds---”

“There's a way,” said Harry quickly, and he explained about the passageway leading into the Hog's Head.

“Potter, we're talking about hundreds of students---”

“I know, Professor, but if Voldemort and the Death Eaters are concentrating on the school boundaries they won't be interested in anyone who's Disapparating out of Hog's Head.”

“There's something in that,” she agreed. She pointed her wand at the Carrows, and a silver net fell upon their bound bodies, tied itself around them, and hoisted them into the air, where they dangled beneath the blue-and-gold ceiling like two large, ugly sea creatures. “Come. We must alert the other Heads of House. You'd better put that Cloak back on.”

She marched toward the door, and as she did so she raised her wand. From the tip burst three silver cats with spectacle markings around their eyes. The Patronuses ran sleekly ahead, filling the spiral staircase with silvery light, as Professor McGonagall, Harry, and Luna hurried back down.

Along the corridors they raced, and one by one the Patronuses left them. Professor McGonagall's tartan dressing gown rustled over the floor, and Harry and Luna jogged behind her under the Cloak. They had descended two more floors when another set of steps joined theirs. Harry, whose scar was still prickling, heard them first. He felt in the pouch around his neck for the Marauder's Map, but before he could take it out, McGonagall too seemed to become aware of their company. She halted, raised her wand ready to duel, and said,

“Who's there?”

“It is I,” said a low voice.

From behind a suit of armour stepped Severus Snape, with Professor Umbridge standing glassy-eyed beside him.

Harry was strangely relieved to see him. He was not wearing nightclothes, but was dressed in his usual black cloak, and he too looked ready for a fight.

“Where are the Carrows?” he asked quietly.

“Already taken care of, Severus,” said Professor McGonagall.

“I felt my mark burn, the Dark Lord will be on his way. I thought it best to deal quickly with those who may welcome his arrival,” Snape stepped nearer, and his eyes flitted over Professor McGonagall into the air around her, as if he knew that Harry was there.

“What do you plan to do with her?”

“I was undecided, she is not actually a Death Eater, I checked to be sure. But under Imperio she could be useful?”

“Minerva!” said a squeaky voice, and looking behind him, still hidden, Harry saw Professors Lupin, Flitwick and Sprout sprinting up the corridor toward them in their nightclothes.

“What is happening!” squealed Flitwick at the sight of Umbridge, raising his wand.

“Send her out of the castle, Severus,” said McGonagall. “Much as I despise the woman, I think it best to simply get her out of her way.”

“Send her to the Ministry,” suggested Lupin. “It’s where she came from.”

“Minerva,” Professor Sprout said. “Do please explain what is happening?”

“Our headmistress is taking a short break,” said Professor McGonagall.

“Professor!” Harry shouted, removing the cloak, his hand on his forehead. He could see the Inferi-filled lake sliding beneath him, and he felt a ghostly green boat bump into the underground shore, and Voldemort leapt from it with murder in his heart--- “Professor, we've got to barricade the school, he's coming now!”

“Very well. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is coming,” she told the other teachers.

Sprout and Flitwick gasped. Lupin let out a low groan.

“Potter has work to do in the castle on Dumbledore's orders. We need to put in place every protection of which we are capable while Potter does what he needs to do.”

“You realize , of course, that nothing we do will be able to keep out You- Know-Who indefinitely?” squeaked Flitwick.

“But we can hold him up.” said Professor Sprout.

“Thank you, Pomona,” said Professor McGonagall, and between the two witches there passed a look of grim understanding. I suggest we establish basic protection around the place, then gather our students and meet in the Great Hall. Most must be evacuated, though if any of those who are over age wish to stay and fight, I think they ought to be given the chance.”

“Agreed,” said Professor Sprout, already hurrying toward the door. “I shall meet you in the Great Hall in twenty minutes with my House.”

And as she jogged out of sight, they could hear her muttering, “Tentacula, Devil's Snare. And Snargaluff pods...yes, I'd like to see the Death Eaters fighting those.”

“I can act from here,” said Flitwick, and although he could barely see out of it, he opened a window and pointed his wand through it and started muttering incantations of great complexity. Harry heard a weird rushing noise, as though Flitwick had unleashed the power of the wind into the grounds.

“Professor,” Harry said, approaching the little Charms master. “Professor, I'm sorry to interrupt, but this is important. Have you got any idea where the diadem of Ravenclaw is?”

“--- Protego Horribillis--- the diadem of Ravenclaw?” squeaked Flitwick. “A little extra wisdom never goes amiss, Potter, but I hardly think it would be much use in this situation!”

“I only meant --- do you know where it is? Have you ever seen it?”

“Seen it! Nobody has seen it in living memory! Long since lost, boy.”

Harry felt a mixture of desperate disappointment and panic. What, then, was the Horcrux?

“We shall meet you and your Ravenclaws in the Great Hall, Filius!” said Professor McGonagall, beckoning to Harry and Luna to follow her.

They had just reached the door when Snape caught them up. “I'm not at all sure whether this is wise, Minerva. He is bound to find a way in, and anyone who has tried to delay him will be in the greatest of danger---”

“I agree, but sometimes you simply must take a stand. I shall expect you and the Slytherins who need evacuated in the Great Hall in twenty minutes.” said Professor McGonagall. “We must be most careful with them as several of the older students are a danger in and of themselves, do you have any suggestions?”

“It may be better to simply seal the Slytherins in their Common Room,” suggested Snape.

“We can’t,” said Lupin. “If Death Eaters got in they would be sitting gnomes, and even without that the students among them loyal to the Death Eaters would have easy pickings.”

“Then I may need assistance to take care of the older students before we can safely evacuate the rest.”

“I’ll help,” volunteered Lupin, and I’ll call for Sirius. He cast his Patronus and sent it off.

“Then I will leave you three to deal with Slytherin House,” said McGonagall.

Snape did not look especially pleased with the arrangement, but did not argue.

Harry and Luna moved after Professor McGonagall, who had taken up a position in the middle of the corridor and raised her wand.

“Piertotum---oh, for heaven's sake, Filch, not now---”

The aged caretaker had just come hobbling into view, shouting “Students out of bed! Students in the corridors!”

“They're supposed to be you blithering idiot!” shouted McGonagall. “Now go and do something constructive! Find Peeves!”

'P-Peeves?” stammered Filch as though he had never heard the name before.

“Yes, Peeves, you fool, Peeves! Haven't you been complaining about him for a quarter of a century? Go and fetch him, at once.”

Filch evidently thought Professor McGonagall had taken leave of her senses, but hobbled away, hunch-shouldered, muttering under his breath.

“And now--- Piertotum Locomotor! ” cried Professor McGonagall. And all along the corridor the statues and suits of armour jumped down from their plinths, and from the echoing crashes from the floors above and below, Harry knew that their fellows throughout the castle had done the same.

“Hogwarts is threatened!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “Man the boundaries, protect us, do your duty to our school!”

Clattering and yelling, the horde of moving statues stampeded past Harry, some of them smaller, others larger than life. There were animals too, and the clanking suits of armour brandished swords and spiked balls on chains.

“Now, Potter,” said McGonagall., “you and Miss Lovegood had better return to your friends and bring them to the Great Hall --- I shall rouse the other Gryffindors.”

They parted at the top of the next staircase, Harry and Luna turning back toward the concealed entrance to the Room of Requirement. As they ran, they met crowds of students, most wearing travelling cloaks over their pyjamas, being shepherded down to the Great Hall by teachers and prefects.

“That was Potter!”

“Harry Potter!”

“It was him, I swear, I just saw him!”

“But Harry did not look back, and at last they reached the entrance to the Room of Requirement, Harry leaned against the enchanted wall, which opened to admit them, and he and Luna sped back down the steep staircase.

“Wh--?”

As the room came into view, Harry slipped down a few stairs in shock. It was packed, far more crowded than when he had last been in there. Kingsley was looking up at him, as were Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, Viktor Krum, Bill and Tonks, her mother Andromeda and Mrs. Weasley.

“Harry, what's happening?” said Kingsley, meeting him at the foot of the stairs.

“Voldemort's on his way, they're barricading the school---What are you doing here? How did you know?

“We passed messages on to everyone we could think of,” Fred explained. “You couldn't expect everyone to miss the fun, Harry.”

“What first, Harry?” called George. “What's going on?”

“They're evacuating the younger kids and everyone's meeting in the Great Hall to get organized,” Harry said. “We're fighting.”

There was a great roar and a surge toward the stairs, he was pressed back against he wall as they ran past him, the mingled members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's Army, and Harry's old Quidditch team, all with their wands drawn, heading up into the main castle.

“Come on, Luna,” Dean called as he passed, holding out his free hand, she took it and followed him back up the stairs.

The crowd was thinning. Only a little knot of people remained below in the Room of Requirement, and Harry joined them. Mrs. Weasley was struggling with Ginny. Around them stood Fred, George, Bill and Tonks.

“You're underage!” Mrs. Weasley shouted at her daughter as Harry approached. “I won't permit it! The boys, yes, but you, you've got to go home!”

“I won't!” Ginny's hair flew as she pulled her arm out of her mother's grip. “I'm in Dumbledore's Army---”

“A teenagers' gang!”

“A teenagers' gang that's about to take him on, which no one else has dared to do!” said Fred.

“She's sixteen!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “She's not old enough! What you two were thinking bringing her with you—-”

Fred and George looked slightly ashamed of themselves.

“Mum's right, Ginny,” said Bill gently. “You can't do this. Everyone underage will have to leave, it's only right.”

“I can't go home!” Ginny shouted, angry tears sparkling in her eyes. “my whole family's here, I can't stand waiting there alone and not knowing and --”

Her eyes met Harry's for the first time. She looked at him beseechingly, but he shook his head and she turned away bitterly.

“Fine,” she said, staring at the entrance to the tunnel back to the Hog's Head. “I'll say good-by now, then, and---”

There was a scuffling and creak. Someone else had clambered out of the tunnel, overbalanced slightly, and fallen. He pulled himself up on the nearest chair, looked around through lopsided horn-rimmed glasses, and said, “Am I too late? Has it started. I only just found out, so I --- I ---”

Percy spluttered into silence. Evidently he had not expected to run into most of his family. When he had chosen not to join the Order with his brothers, but continue working for the Ministry, there had been a bit of a nasty rift.

There was a long moment of astonishment, broken by Tonks turning to Draco and saying, in a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension. “So--- how’s it hanging, cuz?”

Draco blinked at her, startled. The silence between the Weasleys seemed to be solidifying, like ice.

“I --- um--- fine,” Draco said, bewildered. “It’s hanging… um … fine?”

Percy and the other Weasleys were still staring at one another, frozen.

“Um, how are you?” Draco tried, “How is… being married?”

“I was a fool!” Percy roared, so loudly that Tonks nearly fell over. “I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a – a --”

“Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron,” said Fred.

Percy swallowed.

“Yes, I was!”

“Well, you can't say fairer than that,” said Fred, holding his hand out to Percy. Mrs. Weasley burst into tears. She ran forward, pushed Fred aside, and pulled Percy into a strangling hug, while he patted her on the back, his eyes on the others.

“I'm sorry,” Percy said.

“What made you see sense, Perce?” inquired George.

“It's been coming on for a while,” said Percy, mopping his eyes under his glasses with a corner of his travelling cloak. “But I had to find a way out and it's not so easy at the Ministry, they're imprisoning traitors all the time. I managed to make contact with Aberforth and he tipped me off ten minutes ago that Hogwarts was going to make a fight of it, so here I am.”

“Well, we do look to our prefects to take a lead at times such as these,” said George in a good imitation of Percy's most pompous manner. “Now let's get upstairs and fight, or all the good Death Eaters'll be taken.”

“So, you're my sister in-law now?” said Percy, shaking hands with Tonks as he hurried off toward the staircase with Bill.

“Ginny!” barked Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny had been attempting, under cover of the reconciliation, to sneak upstairs too.

“Mum, how about this,” said Fred. “Why doesn't Ginny stay here...”

“Then at least she'll be on the scene,” continued George, “and know what's going on...”

“but she won't be in the middle of the fighting?” finished Fred.

“I---” started Ginny.

“That's a good idea,” said Mrs. Weasley firmly, “Ginny, you stay in this room, you hear me?”

Ginny did not seem to like the idea much, but under her mother's extremely stern gaze, she nodded. Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Tonks headed off to the stairs as well, following Fred and George.

“Where's Ron?” asked Harry, “Where's Hermione?”

“They went out already,” Mrs Weasley answered as Draco looked around him in annoyance, clearly also having no idea where they were.

“I didn't see them pass me,” said Harry.

“They said something about a bathroom,” said Ginny, “not long after you left.”

“A bathroom?”

Harry strode across the room to an open door leading off the Room of Requirement and checked the bathroom beyond. It was empty. “You're sure they said bath---?”

But then his scar seared and the Room of Requirement vanished. He was looking through the high wrought-iron gates with winged boats on pillars at either side, looking through the dark grounds toward the castle, which was ablaze with lights. Nagini lay draped over his shoulders. He was possessed of that cold, cruel sense of purpose that preceded murder.

  



	10. The Battle of Hogwarts

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was dark and scattered with stars, and below it the four long House tables were lined with dishevelled students, some in travelling cloaks, others in dressing gowns. Here and there shone the pearly white figures of the school ghosts. Every eye, living and dead was fixed upon Professor McGonagall, who was speaking from the raised platform at the top of the Hall. Behind her stood the remaining teaches, including the palomino centaur, Firenze, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix who had arrived to fight.

"...evacuation will be overseen by Mr. Filch and Madame Pomfrey. Prefects, when I give the word, you will organize your House and take your charges in orderly fashion to the evacuation point.

Many of the students looked petrified. However, as Harry skirted the walls, scanning the Gryffindor table for Ron and Hermione, Ernie Macmillan stood up at the Hufflepuff table and shouted; "And what if we want to stay and fight?"

There was a smattering of applause.

"If you are of age, you may stay." said Professor McGonagall.

"What about our things?" called a girl at the Ravenclaw table. "Our trunks, our owls?"

"We have no time to collect possessions." said Professor McGonagall. "The important thing is to get you out of here safely."

"Where's Professor Umbridge?" shouted a girl from the Slytherin table.

"She has, most unfortunately, been called elsewhere," replied Professor McGonagall and a great cheer erupted from the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws.

Harry moved up the Hall alongside the Gryffindor table, still looking for Ron and Hermione. As he and Draco passed, faces turned in their direction, and a great deal of whispering broke out in their wake.

"We have already placed protection around the castle," Professor McGonagall was saying, "but it is unlikely to hold for very long unless we reinforce it. I must ask you, therefore, to move quickly and calmly, and do as your prefects -"

But her final words were drowned as a different voice echoed throughout the Hall.

It was high, cold, and clear. There was no telling from where it came. It seemed to issue from the walls themselves. Like the monster it had once commanded, it might have lain dormant there for centuries.

"I know that you are preparing to fight." There were screams amongst the students, some of whom clutched each other, looking around in terror for the source of the sound. "Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood."

There was silence in the Hall now, the kind of silence that presses against the eardrums, that seems too huge to be contained by walls. Draco was clinging to Harry’s arm so tightly he was leaving bruises, although Harry didn’t think he was aware he was doing it.

"Give me Harry Potter," said Voldemort's voice, "and they shall not be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight."

The silence swallowed them all again. Every head turned, every eye in the place seemed to have found Harry, to hold him forever in the glare of thousands of invisible beams. Then a figure rose from the Slytherin table and he recognized Theodore Nott as he raised a shaking arm and shouted, "He's there! Potter's there. Someone grab him!"

Before Harry could speak, there was a massive movement. The Gryffindors in front of him had risen and stood facing, not Harry, but the Slytherins. Then the Hufflepuffs stood, and almost at the same moment, the Ravenclaws, all of them with their backs to Harry, all of them looking toward Nott instead, and Harry, awestruck and overwhelmed, saw wands emerging everywhere, pulled from beneath cloaks and from under sleeves.

"Thank you, Mr Nott." said Professor McGonagall in a clipped voice. "You will leave the Hall first with Mr. Filch. If the rest of your House could follow."

Harry heard the grinding of the benches and then the sound of the Slytherins trooping out on the other side of the Hall. Harry noticed a few people were not present, most notably Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. He wondered where they were.

Draco had noticed too. “We’ll need to watch out for Crabbe and Goyle… and Pansy I suppose.”

“Actually, Pansy kind of helped us a while back.”

“What?”

"Ravenclaws, follow on!" cried Professor McGonagall.

“We got captured by Snatchers a while back, Pansy helped us escape.”

Draco took that in thoughtfully as the four House tables emptied. The Slytherin table was completely deserted, but a number of older Ravenclaws remained seated while their fellows filed out; even more Hufflepuffs stayed behind, and half of Gryffindor remained in their seats, necessitating Professor McGonagall's descent from the teachers' platform to chivvy the underage on their way.

"Absolutely not, Creevey, go! And you, Peakes!"

Harry hurried over to the Weasleys, all sitting together at the Gryffindor table.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Haven't you found -?" began Mrs Weasley, looking worried.

But she broke off as Kingsley had stepped forward on the raised platform to address those who had remained behind. "We've only got half an half an hour until midnight, so we need to act fast. A battle plan has been agreed between the teachers of Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix. Professors Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall are going to take groups of fighters up to the three highest towers - Ravenclaw, Astronomy, and Gryffindor - where they'll have good overview, excellent positions from which to work spells. Meanwhile Remus" - he indicated Lupin - "Bill" – he pointed toward Bill Weasley, sitting at the Gryffindor table - "and I will take groups into the grounds. We'll need somebody to organize defence of the entrances or the passageways into the school -"

"Sounds like a job for us." called Fred, indicating himself and George, and Kingsley nodded his approval.

"All right, leaders up here and we'll divide up the troops!"

"Potter," said Professor McGonagall, hurrying up to him, as students flooded the platform, jostling for position, receiving instructions, "Aren't you supposed to be looking for something?"

"What? Oh," said Harry, "oh yeah!"

He had almost forgotten about the Horcrux, almost forgotten that the battle was being fought so that he could search for it: The inexplicable absence of Ron and Hermione had momentarily driven every other thought from his mind.

"Then go, Potter, go!"

"Right - yeah -"

He sensed eyes following him as he and Draco ran out of the Great Hall again, into the entrance hall still crowded with evacuating students. They allowed himself to be swept away up the marble staircase with the students, but at the top they hurried off along a deserted corridor.

Fear and panic were clouding Harry’s thought processes. He tried to calm himself, to concentrate on finding the Horcrux, but his thoughts buzzed as frantically and fruitlessly as wasps trapped beneath a glass. He could not seem to marshal his ideas. He slowed down, coming to a halt halfway along a passage, where he sat down on the plinth of a departed statue and pulled the Marauder's Map out of the pouch around his neck. He could not see Ron's or Hermione's names anywhere on it, though the density of the crowd of dots now making its way to the Room of Requirement might, he thought, be concealing them. He put the map away, pressed his hands over his face, and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate.

“Voldemort thought I'd go to Ravenclaw Tower,” he said to Draco.

There it was, a solid fact, the place to start. Voldemort had stationed Alecto Carrow in the Ravenclaw common room, and there could be only one explanation; Voldemort feared that Harry already knew his Horcrux was connected to that House.

“But the only object anyone seems to associate with Ravenclaw is the lost diadem...” and how could the Horcrux be the diadem? How was it possible that Voldemort, the Slytherin, had found the diadem that had eluded generations of Ravenclaws? Who could have told him where to look, when nobody had seen the diadem in living memory?

In living memory...

Beneath his fingers, Harry's eyes flew open again. He leapt up from the plinth and tore back the way he had come, now in pursuit of his one last hope.

“What?” said Draco, running after him. “Where are we going?”

The sound of hundreds of people marching toward the Room of Requirement grew louder and louder as he returned to the marble stairs. Prefects were shouting instructions, trying to keep track of the students in their own houses, there was much pushing and shouting; Harry saw Zacharias Smith bowling over first years to get to the front of the queue, here and there younger students were in tears, while older ones called desperately for friends or siblings.

Harry caught sight of a pearly white figure drifting across the entrance hall below and yelled as loudly as he could over the clamour.

"Nick! NICK! I need to talk to you!"

He forced his way back through the tide of students, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, where Nearly Headless Nick, ghost of Gryffindor Tower, stood waiting for him.

"Harry! My dear boy!"

Nick made to grasp Harry's hands with both of his own; Harry felt as though they had been thrust into icy water.

"Nick, you've got to help me. Who's the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower?"

Nearly Headless Nick looked surprised and a little offended.

"The Grey Lady, of course.”

“I could have told you that,” muttered Draco.

“but if it is ghostly services you require -?" Nick continued.

"It's got to be her - d'you know where she is?"

"Let's see..."

Nick's head wobbled a little on his ruff as he turned hither and thither, peering over the heads of the swarming students.

"That's her over there, Harry, the young woman with the long hair."

Harry looked in the direction of Nick's transparent, pointing finger and saw a tall ghost who caught sight of Harry looking at her, raised her eyebrows, and drifted away through a solid wall.

Harry ran after her. Once through the door of the corridor into which she had disappeared, he saw her at the very end of the passage, still gliding smoothly away from him.

"Hey - wait - come back!"

She consented to pause, floating a few inches from the ground. Harry supposed that she was beautiful, with her waist-length hair and floor-length cloak, but she also looked haughty and proud. Close in, he recognized her as a ghost he had passed several times in the corridor, but to whom he had never spoken.

"You're the Grey Lady?"

She nodded but did not speak.

"The ghost of Ravenclaw Tower?"

"That is correct."

Her tone was not encouraging.

"Please, I need some help. I need to know anything you can tell me about the lost diadem."

A cold smile curved her lips.

"I am afraid," she said, turning to leave, "that I cannot help you."

"WAIT!" He had not meant to shout, but anger and panic were threatening to overwhelm him.

“Calm down,” said Draco. “Let me.”

Harry glanced at his watch as she hovered in front of him. It was a quarter to midnight. "This is urgent." he said fiercely. "If that diadem's at Hogwarts, I've got to find it, fast."

"You are hardly the first student to covet the diadem." she said disdainfully. "Generations of students have badgered me -"

"This isn't about trying to get better marks!" Harry shouted at her, "It's about Voldemort - defeating Voldemort - or aren't you interested in that?"

She could not blush, but her transparent cheeks became more opaque, and her voice was heated as she replied, "Of course I - how dare you suggest -?"

"Well, help us then!"

Her composure was slipping. "It - it is not a question of -" she stammered. “My mother's diadem -"

"Your mother's?"

She looked angry with herself.

"When I lived," she said stiffly, "I was Helena Ravenclaw."

Draco made a sound of surprise.

"You're her daughter? But then, you must know what happened to it."

"While the diadem bestows wisdom," she said with an obvious effort to pull herself together, "I doubt that it would greatly increase you chances of defeating the wizard who calls himself Lord -"

Haven't I told you, I'm not interested in wearing it!" Harry said fiercely. "There's no time to explain - but if you care about Hogwarts, if you want to see Voldemort finished, you've got to tell me anything you know about the diadem!"

She remained quite still, floating in midair, staring down at him and Draco, and a sense of hopelessness engulfed Harry. Of course, if she had known anything, she would have told Flitwick of Dumbledore, who had surely asked her the same question. He had shaken his head and made to turn away when she spoke in a low voice.

"I stole the diadem from my mother."

"You - you did what?"

"I stole the diadem." repeated Helena Ravenclaw in a whisper. "I sought to make myself cleverer, more important than my mother. I ran away with it."

He did not know how he had managed to gain her confidence and did not ask, he simply listened, hard, as she went on.

"My mother, they say, never admitted that the diadem was gone, but pretended that she had it still. She concealed her loss, my dreadful betrayal, even from the other founders of Hogwarts.

"Then my mother fell ill - fatally ill. In spite of my perfidy, she was desperate to see me one more time. She sent a man who had long loved me, though I spurned his advances, to find me. She knew that he would not rest until he had done so."

Harry waited. She drew a deep breath and threw back her head.

"He tracked me to the forest where I was hiding. When I refused to return with him, he became violent. The baron was always a hot-tempered man. Furious at my refusal, jealous of my freedom, he stabbed me."

"The Baron? You mean -?"

"The Bloody Baron, yes," said the Gray Lady, and she lifted aside the cloak she wore to reveal a single dark wound in her white chest. When he saw what he had done, he was overcome with remorse. He took the weapon that had claimed my life, and used it to kill himself. All these centuries later, he wears his chains as an act of penitence ... as he should." she added bitterly.

"And - and the diadem?"

"It remained where I had hidden it when I heard the Baron blundering through the forest toward me. Concealed inside a hollow tree."

"A hollow tree?" repeated Harry. "What tree? Where was this?"

"A forest in Albania. A lonely place I thought was far beyond my mother's reach."

"Albania," repeated Harry. Sense was emerging miraculously from confusion, and now he understood why she was telling him what she had denied Dumbledore and Flitwick. "You've already told someone this story, haven't you? Another student?"

She closed her eyes and nodded.

"I had... no idea... He was flattering. He seemed to... understand... to sympathize…"

“Who?” said Draco. Then, “Oh… of course.”

Yes, Harry thought. Tom Riddle would certainly have understood Helena Ravenclaw's desire to possess fabulous objects to which she had little right.

"Well, you weren't the first person Riddle wormed things out of." Harry muttered. "He could be charming when he wanted..."

So, Voldemort had managed to wheedle the location of the lost diadem out of the Gray Lady. He had travelled to that far-flung forest and retrieved the diadem from its hiding place, perhaps as soon as he left Hogwarts, before he even started work at Borgin and Burkes.

And wouldn't those secluded Albanian woods have seemed an excellent refuge when, so much later, Voldemort and needed a place to lie low, undisturbed, for ten long years?

But the diadem, once it became his precious Horcrux, had not been left in that lowly tree. . . . No, the diadem had been returned secretly to its true home, and Voldemort must have put it there –

“—the night he asked for a job!” said Harry, finishing his thought.

“What?” said Draco even as Rowena Ravenclaw asked much the same question.

“He hid the diadem in the castle, the night he asked Dumbledore to let him teach!” said Harry. Saying it out loud enabled him to make sense of it all. “He must’ve hidden the diadem on his way up to, or down from, Dumbledore’s office! But it was well worth trying to get the job – then he might’ve got the chance to nick Gryffindor’s sword as well – thank you, thanks!”

Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and left her floating there, looking utterly bewildered. As he rounded the corner back into the entrance hall, he checked his watch. It was five minutes until midnight. “We know what the last Horcrux is, but we’re no closer to discovering where it is. . .”

“Surely in Ravenclaw Tower somewhere?” suggested Draco.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Harry. “That’s exactly where everyone before would have looked, and besides, he’d put it somewhere important to him.” – but if not there, where? What hiding place had Tom Riddle discovered inside Hogwarts Castle, that he believed would remain secret forever?

Lost in desperate speculation, Harry turned a corner, but he had taken only a few steps down the new corridor when the window to his left broke open with a deafening, shattering crash. As he leapt aside, a gigantic body flew in through the window and hit the opposite wall.

Something large and furry detached itself, whimpering, from the new arrival and flung itself at Draco.

“Hagrid!” Harry bellowed, as Draco fought off Fang the boarhound’s attentions, and the enormous bearded figure clambered to his feet “What the --?”

“Harry, Draco, yer here! Yer here! ”

Hagrid stooped down, bestowed upon Harry a cursory and rib-cracking hug, then ran back to the shattered window.

“Good boy, Grawpy!” he bellowed through the hole in the window. “I’ll see yer in a moment, there’s a good lad!”

Beyond Hagrid, out in the dark night, Harry saw bursts of light in the distance and heard a weird, keening scream. He looked down at his watch: It was midnight. The battle had begun.

“Blimey, Harry,” panted Hagrid, “this is it, eh? Time ter fight?”

“Hagrid, where have you come from?”

“Heard You-Know-Who from up in our cave,” said Hagrid grimly. “Voice carried, didn’t it? ‘Yet got till midnight ter gimme Potter.’ Knew yeh mus’ be here, knew that mus’ be happenin’. Get down, Fang. So we come ter join in, me an’ Grawpy an’ Fang. Smashed our way through the boundary by the forest, Grawpy was carryin’ us, Fang an’ me. Told him ter let me down at the castle, so he shoved me through the window, bless him. Not exactly what I meant, bu’ – where’s Ron an’ Hermione?”

“That,” said Harry, “is a really good question. Come on.”

They hurried together along the corridor, Fang lolloping beside them. Harry could hear movement through the corridors all around: running footsteps, shouts; through the windows, he could see more flashes of light in the dark grounds.

“Where’re we goin’?” puffed Hagrid, pounding along at Harry’s heels, making the floorboards quake.

“I dunno exactly,” said Harry, making another random turn, “but Ron and Hermione must be around here somewhere. . . .”

The first casualties of the battle were already strewn across the passage ahead: The two stone gargoyles that usually guarded the entrance to the staffroom had been smashed apart by a jinx that had sailed through another broken window. Their remains stirred feebly on the floor, and as Harry leapt over one of their disembodied heads, it moaned faintly. “Oh, don’t mind me . . . I’ll just be here and crumble. . . .”

Its ugly stone face made Harry think suddenly of the marble bust of Rowena Ravenclaw at Xenophilius’s house, wearing that mad headdress – and then of the statue in Ravenclaw Tower, with the stone diadem upon her white curls. . . .

And as he reached the end of the passage, the memory of a third stone effigy came back to him: that of an ugly old warlock, onto whose head Harry himself had placed a wig and a battered old hat. The shock shot through Harry with the heat of firewhisky, and he nearly stumbled. Draco caught his arm to steady him.

He knew, at least, where the Horcrux sat waiting for him. . . .

Tom Riddle, who confided in no one and operated alone, might have been arrogant enough to assume that he, and only he, had penetrated the deepest mysteries of Hogwarts Castle. Of course, Dumbledore and Flitwick, those model pupils, had never set foot in that particular place, but he, Harry, had strayed off the beaten track in his time at school – here at least was a secret area he and Voldemort knew, that Dumbledore had never discovered –

He was distracted by Professor Sprout, who was thundering past followed by Neville and half a dozen others, all of them wearing earmuffs and carrying what appeared to be large potted plants.

“Mandrakes!” Neville bellowed at Harry over his shoulder as he ran. “Going to lob them over the walls – they won’t like this!”

Harry knew now where to go. He sped off, with Draco, Hagrid and Fang galloping behind him. They passed portrait after portrait, and the painted figures raced alongside them, wizards and witches in ruffs and breeches, in armour and cloaks, cramming themselves into each others’ canvases, screaming news from other parts of the castle. As they reached the end of this corridor, the whole castle shook, and Harry knew, as a gigantic vase blew off its plinth with explosive force, that it was in the grip of enchantments more sinister than those of the teachers and the Order.

“It’s all righ’, Fang – it’s all righ’!” yelled Hagrid, but the great boarhound had taken flight as slivers of china flew like shrapnel through the air, and Hagrid pounded off after the terrified dog, leaving Harry and Draco alone.

They forged on through the trembling passages, wands at the ready, and for the length of one corridor the little painted knight, Sir Cadogan, rushed from painting to painting beside them, clanking along in his armour, screaming encouragement, his fat little pony cantering behind him.

“Braggarts and rogues, dogs and scoundrels, drive them out, Harry Potter, see them off!”

Harry hurtled around a corner and found Fred, and a small knot of students, including Lee Jordan and Hannah Abbott, standing beside another empty plinth, whose statue had concealed a secret passageway. Their wands were drawn and they were listening at the concealed hole.

“Nice night for it!” Fred shouted as the castle quaked again, and Harry sprinted by, elated and terrified in equal measure. Along yet another corridor they dashed, and then there were owls everywhere, and Mrs. Norris was hissing and trying to bat them with her paws, no doubt to return them to their proper place. . . .

“Potter!”

Aberforth Dumbledore stood blocking the corridor ahead, his wand held ready.

“I’ve had hundreds of kids thundering through my pub, Potter!”

“I know, we’re evacuating,” Harry said, “Voldemort’s –“

“– attacking because they haven’t handed you over, yeah,” said Aberforth. “I’m not deaf, the whole of Hogsmeade heard him. And it never occurred to any of you to keep a few Slytherins hostage? There are kids of Death Eaters you’ve just sent to safety. Wouldn’t it have been a bit smarter to keep ‘em here?”

“It wouldn’t stop Voldemort,” said Harry, “and your brother would never have done it.”

Aberforth grunted and tore away in the opposite direction.

Your brother would never have done it. . . . Well, it was the truth, Harry thought as he ran on again: Dumbledore, who had defended Snape and Draco for so long, would never have held students ransom. . . .

And then he skidded around a final corner and with a yell of mingled relief and fury he saw them: Ron and Hermione; both with their arms full of large, curved, dirty yellow objects, Ron with a broomstick under his arms.

“Where the hell have you been?” Harry shouted.

“Chamber of Secrets,” said Ron.

“Chamber – what? ” said Harry, coming to an unsteady halt before them.

“It was all Ron’s idea!” said Hermione breathlessly. “Wasn’t it absolutely brilliant? There we were, after we left, and I said to Ron, even if we find the other one, how are we going to get rid of it? We still hadn’t got rid of the cup! And then he thought of it! Grabbed me aside and said, what about the basilisk!”

“What?” said Draco.

“Something to get rid of Horcruxes,” said Harry simply. “Of course.”

Harry’s eyes dropped to the objects clutched in Ron and Hermione’s arms: great curved fangs; torn, he now realized, from the skull of a dead basilisk.

“But you have the sword of Gryffindor,” said Draco, confused. “I saw you get it out the pond.”

This time it was Harry’s turn to say “What?”

“We lost it,” Hermione said succinctly. “But we can use these instead.”

“But how did you get in there?” Harry asked, staring from the fangs to Ron. “You need to speak Parseltongue!”

“He did!” whispered Hermione. “Show him, Ron!”

Ron made a horrible strangled hissing noise.

“It’s what you did to open the locket,” he told Harry apologetically. “I had to have a few goes to get it right, but,” he shrugged modestly, “we got there in the end.”

“He was amazing!” said Hermione. “Amazing!”

“So . . .” Harry was struggling to keep up. “So . . .”

“So we’re another Horcrux down,” said Ron, and from under his jacket he pulled the mangled remains of Hufflepuff’s cup. “Hermione stabbed it. Thought she should. She hasn’t had the pleasure yet.”

“Genius!” yelled Harry.

“It was nothing,” said Ron, though he looked delighted with himself. “So what’s new with you?”

As he said it, there was an explosion from overhead: All three of them looked up as dust fell from the ceiling and they heard a distant scream.

“I know what the diadem looks like, and I know where it is,” said Harry, talking fast. “He hid it exactly where I hid my old Potions book, where everyone’s been hiding stuff for centuries. He thought he was the only one to find it. Come on.”

As the walls trembled again, he led the other two back through the concealed entrance and down the staircase into the Room of Requirement. It was empty except for three women: Ginny, Fleur Delacour, and an elderly witch wearing a moth-eaten hat, whom Harry recognized immediately as Neville’s grandmother.

“Ah, Potter,” she said crisply as if she had been waiting for him. “You can tell us what’s going on.”

“Is everyone okay?” said Ginny.

“’S far as we know,” said Harry. “Are there still people in the passage to the Hog’s Head?”

He knew that the room would not be able to transform while there were still users inside it.

“Fleur and I were the last to come through,” said Mrs. Longbottom. “I sealed it, I think it unwise to leave it open now Aberforth has left his pub. Have you seen my grandson?”

“He’s fighting,” said Harry.

“Naturally,” said the old lady proudly. “Excuse me, I must go and assist him.”

With surprising speed she trotted off toward the stone steps.

Harry looked at Fleur.

“What are you doing here?”

“I received a message from George –“ she replied in her heavy French accent. “But when I arrived I thought ee would prefer I stayed ‘ere with Ginevra.”

Ginny made a face suggesting she would prefer otherwise.

”’ave you seen Fred and George?” Fleur asked.

“I just saw Fred fighting in the corridors not far from here.” replied Harry, “I’m sorry, but we need you to leave too. Just for a bit. Then you can come back in.”

Ginny looked simply delighted to leave her sanctuary.

“And then you can come back in!” he shouted after her as she ran up the steps with Fleur following. “You’ve got to come back in! ”

“Hang on a moment!” said Ron sharply. “We’ve forgotten someone!”

“Who?” asked Hermione.

“The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?”

“You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Harry.

“No,” said Ron seriously, “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want anymore Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us –“

There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet.

“Is this the moment?” Harry asked weakly.

“Looks like it,” replied Draco.

When nothing more happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, Harry raised his voice. “Oi! There’s a war going on here!”

Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other.

“I know, mate,” said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, “so it’s now or never, isn’t it?”

“Never mind that, what about the Horcrux?” Harry shouted. “D’you think you could just – just hold it in until we’ve got the diadem?”

“Yeah – right – sorry –“ said Ron, and he and Hermione set about gathering up fangs, both pink in the face.

It was clear, as the four of them stepped back into the corridor upstairs, that in the minutes that they had spent in the Room of Requirement the situation within the castle had deteriorated severely: The walls and ceiling were shaking worse than ever; dust filled the air, and through the nearest window, Harry saw bursts of green and red light so close to the foot of the castle that he knew the Death Eaters must be very near to entering the place. Looking down, Harry saw Grawp the giant meandering past, swinging what looked like a stone gargoyle torn from the roof and roaring his displeasure.

“Let’s hope he steps on some of them!” said Ron as more screams echoed from close by.

“As long as it’s not any of our lot!” said a voice: Harry turned and saw Ginny and Fleur, both with their wands drawn at the next window, which was missing several panes. Even as he watched, Ginny sent a well-aimed jinx into a crowd of fighters below.

“Good girl!” roared a figure running through the dust toward them, and Harry saw Aberforth again, his grey hair flying as he led a small group of students past. “They look like they might be breaching the north battlements, they’ve brought giants of their own.”

“Have you seen George or Fred Weasley?” Fleur called after him.

“Fred was back there duelling someone,” shouted Aberforth.

Fleur looked that way and then back to Ginny, anxiously.

“Go,” said Ginny. “I’m fine.”

Fleur ran off in the direction Aberforth had indicated.

Ginny turned, helpless, back to them.

“They’ll be all right,” said Harry, though he knew they were empty words. “Ginny, we’ll be back in a moment, just keep out of the way, keep safe – come on!” he said to the others, and they ran back to the stretch of wall beyond which the Room of Requirement was waiting to do the bidding of the next entrant.

I need the place where everything is hidden. Harry begged of it inside his head, and the door materialized on their third run past.

The furore of the battle died the moment they crossed the threshold and closed the door behind them: All was silent. They were in a place the size of a cathedral with the appearance of a city, its towering walls built of objects hidden by thousands of long-gone students.

“Here,” said Draco. “Isn’t this where you said Pansy...”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“And You-Know-Who never realized anyone could get in?” said Ron, his voice echoing in the silence.

“He thought he was the only one,” said Harry. “Too bad for him I’ve had to hide stuff in my time . . . this way,” he added. “I think it’s down here. . . .”

They sped off up adjacent aisles; Harry could hear the others’ footsteps echoing through the towering piles of junk, of bottles, hats, crates, chairs, books, weapons, broomsticks, bats. . . .

“Somewhere near here,” Harry muttered to himself. “Somewhere . . . somewhere . . .”

Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth he went, looking for objects he recognized from his one previous trip into the room. His breath was loud in his ears, and then his very soul seemed to shiver. There it was, right ahead, the blistered old cupboard in which he had hidden his old Potions book, and on top of it, the pockmarked stone warlock wearing a dusty old wig and what looked like an ancient discoloured tiara.

He had already stretched out his hand, though he remained few feet away, when a voice behind him said, “Hold it, Potter.”

He skidded to a halt and turned around. Crabbe and Goyle were standing behind him, shoulder to shoulder, wands pointing right at Harry. Through the small space between their jeering faces he saw Pansy Parkinson.

“That’s my wand you’re holding, Potter,” said Parkinson, pointing her own through the gap between Crabbe and Goyle.

“Not anymore,” panted Harry, tightening his grip on the wand.

“Winners, keepers, Parkinson. Who’s lent you theirs?”

“My mother,” she replied.

Harry laughed, though there was nothing very humorous about the situation.

He could not hear Draco, Ron or Hermione anymore. They seemed to have run out of earshot, searching for the diadem.

“So how come you three aren’t with Voldemort?” asked Harry.

“We’re gonna be rewarded,” said Crabbe. His voice was surprisingly soft for such an enormous person: Harry had hardly ever heard him speak before. Crabbe was speaking like a small child promised a large bag of sweets. “We ‘ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to ‘im.”

“Good plan,” said Harry in mock admiration. He could not believe that he was this close, and was going to be thwarted by Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle. He began edging slowly backward toward the place where the Horcrux sat lopsided upon the bust. If he could just get his hands on it before the fight broke out . . .

“I thought you were helping us, Parkinson?” he asked, trying to distract them.

“You thought wrong then didn’t you,” Pansy replied, but her hand was unsteady on her wand.

“So how did you lot get in here?”

“I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year,” said Pansy, her voice brittle. “I know how to get in.”

“We was hiding in the corridor outside,” grunted Goyle. “We can do Diss-lusion Charms now! And then,” his face split into a gormless grin, “you turned up right in front of us and said you was looking for a die-dum! What’s a die-dum?”

“Harry?” Ron’s voice echoed suddenly from the other side of the wall to Harry’s right. “Are you talking to someone?”

With a whiplike movement, Crabbe pointed his wand at the fifty foot mountain of old furniture, of broken trunks, of old books and robes and unidentifiable junk, and shouted, “Descendo! ”

The wall began to totter, then the top third crumbled into the aisle next door where Ron stood.

“Ron!” Harry bellowed, as somewhere out of sight Hermione screamed, and Harry heard innumerable objects crashing to the floor on the other side of the destabilized wall: He pointed his wand at the rampart, cried, “Finite! ” and it steadied.

“No!” shouted Pansy, staying Crabbe’s arm as the latter made to repeat his spell. “If you wreck the room you might bury this diadem thing!”

“Pansy?” he heard Draco shout from some way away.

“What’s that matter?” said Crabbe, tugging himself free. “It’s Potter the Dark Lord wants, who cares about a die-dum?”

“Potter came in here to get it,” said Pansy with ill-disguised impatience at the slow-wittedness of his colleagues. “so that must mean –“

“’Must mean’?” Crabbe turned on Pansy with undisguised ferocity. “Who cares what you think? I don’t take your orders no more, Parkinson. You an’ your parents are finished.”

“Harry?” shouted Ron again, from the other side of the junk wall. “What’s going on?”

“Harry?” mimicked Crabbe. “What’s going on – no, Potter! Crucio!”

Harry had lunged for the tiara; Crabbe’s curse missed him but hit the stone bust, which flew into the air; the diadem soared upward and then dropped out of sight in the mass of objects on which the bust had rested.

“STOP!” Pansy screamed at Crabbe, her voice echoing through the enormous room. “The Dark Lord wants him alive –“

“Pansy!” Draco shouted again, sounding closer.

“So? I’m not killing him, am I?” yelled Crabbe, easily throwing off Pansy’s restraining arm. “But if I can, I will, the Dark Lord wants him dead anyway, what’s the diff – ?”

A jet of scarlet light shot past Harry by inches: Hermione had run around the corner behind him and sent a Stunning Spell straight at Crabbe’s head. It only missed because Pansy pulled him out of the way.

“It’s that Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!”

Harry saw Hermione dive aside, and his fury that Crabbe had aimed to kill wiped all else from his mind. He shot a Stunning Spell at Crabbe, who lurched out of the way, knocking Pansy’s wand out of her hand; it rolled out of sight beneath a mountain of broken furniture and bones.

“Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!” Pansy screeched at Crabbe and Goyle, who were both aiming at Harry: Their split second’s hesitation was all Harry needed.

“Expelliarmus!”

Goyle’s wand flew out of his hand and disappeared into the bulwark of objects beside him; Goyle leapt foolishly on the spot, trying to retrieve it; Pansy jumped out of range of Hermione’s second Stunning Spell, and Ron, appearing suddenly at the end of the aisle, shot a full Body-Bind Curse at Crabbe, which narrowly missed.

Crabbe wheeled around and screamed, “Avada Kedavra!” again. Ron leapt out of sight to avoid the jet of green light. The wand-less Pansy cowered behind a three-legged wardrobe as Hermione charged toward them, hitting Goyle with a spell as she came.

“It’s somewhere here!” Harry yelled at her, pointing at the pile of junk into which the old tiara had fallen. “Look for it while I go and help R –“

“HARRY!” she screamed.

A roaring, billowing noise behind him gave him a moment’s warning. He turned and saw both Ron and Crabbe running as hard as they could up the aisle toward them.

“Like it hot, scum?” roared Crabbe as he ran.

But he seemed to have no control over what he had done. Flames of abnormal size were pursuing them, licking up the sides of the junk bulwarks, which were crumbling to soot at their touch.

“Aguamenti! ” Harry bawled, but the jet of water that soared from the tip of his wand evaporated in the air.

Draco rounded the edge of the piles at the other side and Harry shouted, “RUN!”

Pansy grabbed the tottering Goyle and hurried him along past a surprised looking Draco; Crabbe outstripped all of them, now looking terrified; Harry, Ron, and Hermione pelted along in his wake, picking up Draco as they passed him, and the fire pursued them. It was not normal fire; Crabbe had used a curse of which Harry had no knowledge. As they turned a corner the flames chased them as though they were alive, sentient, intent upon killing them. Now the fire was mutating, forming a gigantic pack of fiery beasts: Flaming serpents, chimaeras, and dragons rose and fell and rose again, and the detritus of centuries on which they were feeding was thrown up into the air into their fanged mouths, tossed high on clawed feet, before being consumed by the inferno.

“Fiendfyre,” Draco gasped as they ran. “He’s cast bloody Fiendfyre!”

Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle had vanished from view: Harry, Draco, Ron and Hermione stopped dead; the fiery monsters were circling them, drawing closer and closer, claws and horns and tails lashed, and the heat was solid as a wall around them.

“What can we do?” Hermione screamed over the deafening roars of the fire. “What can we do?”

“Here!” Harry seized a pair of heavy-looking broomsticks from the nearest pile of junk and threw one to Ron, who pulled Hermione onto it behind him. Harry swung his leg over the second broom and Draco leapt on behind him, with hard kicks to the ground, they soared up in the air, missing by feet the horned beak of a flaming raptor that snapped its jaws at them. The smoke and heat were becoming overwhelming: Below them the cursed fire was consuming the contraband of generations of hunted students, the guilty outcomes of a thousand banned experiments, the secrets of the countless souls who had sought refuge in the room. Harry could not see a trace of Pansy, Crabbe, or Goyle anywhere. He swooped as low as he dare over the marauding monsters of flame to try to spot them, but there was nothing but fire: What a terrible way to die. . . . He had never wanted this. . . .

“Harry, let’s get out, let’s get out!” bellowed Ron, though it was impossible to see where the door was through the black smoke.

And then Harry heard a thin, piteous human scream from amidst the terrible commotion, the thunder of devouring flame.

“It’s – too – dangerous – !” Ron yelled, but Harry wheeled in the air as Draco breathed “Please,” in his ear. His glasses giving his eyes some small protection from the smoke, he raked the firestorm below, seeking a sign of life, a limb or a face that was not yet charred like wood. . . .

And he saw them: Pansy with her arms half around a semi-nconscious Goyle, the pair of them perched on a fragile tower of charred desks, and Harry dived. Pansy saw them coming and raised one arm, but even as Draco grasped it they knew at once that it was no good. Goyle was too heavy and Pansy’s hand, covered in sweat, slid instantly out of Draco’s –

“IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I’LL KILL YOU, HARRY!” roared Ron’s voice, and, as a great flaming chimaera bore down upon them, he and Hermione dragged Goyle onto their broom and rose, rolling and pitching, into the air once more as Pansy clambered up onto Draco’s lap, crying into his neck, each with one arm around Harry’s stomach.

“The door, get to the door, the door!” screamed Draco in Harry’s ear, and Harry sped up, following Ron, Hermione, and Goyle through the billowing black smoke, hardly able to breathe: and all around them the last few objects unburned by the devouring flames were flung into the air, as the creatures of the cursed fire cast them high in celebration: cups and shields, a sparkling necklace, and an old, discoloured tiara –

“What are you doing, what are you doing, the door’s that way! ” screamed Pansy, but Harry made a hairpin swerve and dived. The diadem seemed to fall in slow motion, turning and glittering as it dropped toward the maw of a yawning serpent, and then he had it, caught it around his wrist –

Harry swerved again as the serpent lunged at him; he soared upward and straight toward the place where, he prayed, the door stood open; Ron, Hermione and Goyle had vanished; Pansy was screaming and holding Draco and Harry both so tightly it hurt. Then, through the smoke, Harry saw a rectangular patch on the wall and steered the broom at it, and moments later clean air filled his lungs and they collided with the wall in the corridor beyond.

Pansy and Draco fell off the broom and she lay face down, gasping, coughing, and retching.

Harry rolled over and sat up: The door to the Room of Requirement had vanished, and Ron and Hermione sat panting on the floor beside Goyle, who was barely conscious.

“C-Crabbe,” choked Draco as soon as he could speak. “C-Crabbe . . .”

“He’s dead,” said Ron harshly.

There was silence, apart from panting and coughing. Then a number of huge bangs shook the castle, and a great cavalcade of transparent figures galloped past on horses, their heads screaming with bloodlust under their arms. Harry staggered to his feet when the Headless Hunt had passed and looked around: The battle was still going on all around him. He could hear more screams than those of the retreating ghosts. Panic flared within him.

“Where’s Ginny?” he said sharply. “She was here. She was supposed to be going back into the Room of Requirement.”

“Blimey, d’you reckon it’ll still work after that fire?” asked Ron, but he too got to his feet, rubbing his chest and looking left and right. “Shall we split up and look – ?”

“No,” said Hermione, getting to her feet too. Pansy and Goyle remained slumped hopelessly on the corridor floor; neither of them had wands. “Let’s stick together. I say we go – Harry, what’s that on your arm?”

“What? Oh yeah –“

He pulled the diadem from his wrist and held it up. It was still hot, blackened with soot, but as he looked at it closely he was just able to make out the tiny words etched upon it; WIT BEYOND MEASURE IS MAN’S GREATEST TREASURE. A blood-like substance, dark and tarry, seemed to be leaking from the diadem. Suddenly Harry felt the thing vibrate violently, then break apart in his hands, and as it did so, he thought he heard the faintest, most distant scream of pain, echoing not from the grounds or the castle, but from the thing that had just fragmented in his fingers.

“It must have been the Fiendfyre!” whimpered Hermione, her eyes on the broken piece.

“Sorry?”

“Fiendfyre – cursed fire – it’s one of the substances that destroy Horcruxes, but I would never, ever have dared use it, it’s so dangerous – how did Crabbe know how to –?”

“Must’ve learned from the Carrows,” said Draco sadly.

“Shame he wasn’t concentrating when they mentioned how to stop it, really,” said Ron, whose hair, like Hermione’s, was singed, and whose face was blackened. “If he hadn’t tried to kill us all, I’d be quite sorry he was dead.”

“But don’t you realize?” whispered Hermione. “This means, if we can just get the snake –“

But she broke off as yells and shouts and the unmistakable noises of duelling filled the corridor. Harry looked around and his heart seemed to fail: Death Eaters had penetrated Hogwarts. Percy had just backed into view, duelling two masked and hooded men.

“Percy!” shouted Ron and ran forward to aid them.

Harry, and Hermione ran forward to help as well, as Draco helped Pansy and Goyle up: Jets of light flew in every direction and the man still duelling Percy backed off, fast: Then his hood slipped and they saw a high forehead and streaked hair –

“Hello, Minister!” bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. “Did I mention I’m resigning?”

“You’re joking, Perce!” shouted Ron, as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells. Thicknesse had fallen to the ground with tiny spikes erupting all over him; he seemed to be turning into some form of sea urchin. Ron turned back towards them, raising his thumbs in an all clear.

“You actually told a joke, Perce. . . . “ he continued. “I don’t think I’ve heard you do that since –“

The air exploded. They had been grouped together, Harry and Hermione a few steps back from Ron and Percy, the two Death Eaters at their feet, one Stunned, the other Transfigured; and in that fragment of a moment, when danger seemed temporarily at bay, the world was rent apart, Harry felt himself flying through the air, and all he could do was hold as tightly as possible to that thin stick of wood that was his one and only weapon, and shield his head in his arms: He heard the screams and yells of his companions without a hope of knowing what had happened to them –

And then the world resolved itself into pain and semi-darkness: He was half buried in the wreckage of a corridor that had been subjected to a terrible attack. Cold air told him that the side of the castle had been blown away, and hot stickiness on his cheek told him that he was bleeding copiously. Then he heard a terrible cry that pulled at his insides, that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause, and he stood up, swaying, more frightened than he had been that day, more frightened, perhaps, than he had been in his life. . . .

And Hermione was struggling to her feet in the wreckage, and two red-headed men lay on the ground where the wall had blasted apart.

Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand as they staggered and stumbled over stone and wood.

“No – no – no!” someone was shouting. “No! Ron! No!”

And Percy was shaking his brother, kneeling at his side, and Ron’s eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last smile still etched upon his face.


	11. The Elder Wand

The world had ended, so why had the battle not ceased, the castle fallen silent in horror, and every combatant laid down their arms?

Harry's mind was in free fall, spinning out of control, unable to grasp the impossibility, because Ron could not be dead, the evidence of all his senses must be lying--

And then a body fell past the hole blown into the side of the school and curses flew in at them from the darkness, hitting the wall behind their heads.

"Get down!" Harry shouted, as more curses flew through the night: He and Draco had both grabbed Hermione as she tried to dive towards Ron, and pulled her to the floor, but Percy lay across Ron's body, shielding it from further harm, and when Harry shouted "Percy, come on, we've got to move!" he shook his head. "Percy!" Harry saw tear tracks streaking the grime coating Percy's face as he looked up at Harry. "Percy, you can't do anything for him! We're going to--"

Hermione was crying uncontrollable, but he heard Draco cry out, and Harry, turning, did not need to ask why. A monstrous spider the size of a small car was trying to climb through the huge hole in the wall. one of Aragog's descendants had joined the fight.

Harry and Draco shouted together; their spells collided and the monster was blown backward, its legs jerking horribly, and vanished into the darkness.

"It brought friends!" Harry called to the others, glancing over the edge of the castle through the hole in the wall the curses had blasted. More giant spiders were climbing the side of the building, liberated from the Forbidden Forest, into which the Death Eaters must have penetrated. Harry fired Stunning Spells down upon them, knocking the lead monster into its fellows, so that they rolled back down the building and out of sight. Then more curses came soaring over Harry's head, so close he felt the force of them blow his hair.

"Let's move, NOW!"

Pushing Hermione and Draco ahead of him, Harry stooped to seize Ron's body under the armpit. Percy, realizing what Harry was trying to do, stopped clinging to the body and helped: together, crouching low to avoid the curses flying at them from the grounds, they hauled Ron out of the way.

"Here," said Harry, and they placed him in a niche where a suit of armour had stood earlier. He could not bear to look at Ron a second longer than he had to, and after making sure that the body was well-hidden, he took off after Draco and Hermione. Pansy and Goyle had vanished but at the end of the corridor, which was now full of dust and falling masonry, glass long gone from windows, he saw many people running backward and forward, whether friends or foes he could not tell. Rounding the corner, Percy let out a bull-like roar: "ROOKWOOD!" and sprinted off in the direction of a tall man, who was pursuing a couple of students.

"Harry, in here!" Draco shouted.

Draco had pulled Hermione behind a tapestry. They seemed to be wrestling together, and Harry saw that he was trying to restrain Hermione, to stop her running back to Ron’s body.

"Listen to me--LISTEN HERMIONE!"

"He might not be—he could just--" Her face was contorted, smeared with dust and smoke, and she was shaking with rage and grief.

"Granger, we're the only ones who can end it! Come on--we still need the snake, we've still got to kill the snake!" said Draco.

But Harry could barely stop himself from dashing off: Pursuing another Horcrux could not bring the satisfaction of revenge; he wanted to fight, to punish them, the people who had killed Ron, and he wanted to find the other Weasleys, and above all make sure that not one more of them were lost to him -

"We have to go on!" Draco pleaded. "He’s gone, there’s nothing we can do for him. We're the only ones who can end it!"

Harry was crying too he realised, and he wiped his face on his torn and singed sleeve as Draco spoke, still keeping a tight hold on Hermione.

"You need to find out where Voldemort is, because he'll have Nagini with him, won't he?” Draco gulped in a breath. “Do it, Harry-- look inside him!"

Why was it so easy? Because his scar had been burning for hours, yearning to show him Voldemort's thoughts? He closed his eyes on his command, and at once, the screams and bangs and all the discordant sounds of the battle were drowned until they became distant, as though he stood far, far away from them...

He was standing in the middle of a desolate but strangely familiar room, with peeling paper on the walls and all the windows boarded up except for one. The sounds of the assault on the castle were muffled and distant. The single unblocked window revealed distant bursts of light where the castle stood, but inside the room was dark except for a solitary oil lamp.

He was rolling his wand between his fingers, watching it, his thoughts on the room in the castle, the secret room only he had ever found, the room, like the chamber, that you had to be clever and cunning and inquisitive to discover...He was confident that the boy would not find the diadem...although Dumbledore's puppet had come much farther than he ever expected...too far...

"My Lord," said a voice, desperate and cracked. He turned: there was Lucius Malfoy sitting in the darkest corner, ragged and bearing the marks of recent torture. One of his eyes remained closed and puffy. "Tom… please… my son..."

"If your son is dead, it is not my fault. It is yours, Lucius, for not setting a better example."

"No--please," whispered Malfoy.

"You should hope that he is, it would no doubt be a more merciful death than the one he would receive at my hands."

"Aren't-- aren't you afraid, Tom, that Potter might die at another hand but yours?" asked Malfoy, his voice shaking. "Wouldn't it be...forgive me...more prudent to call off this battle, enter the castle, and seek him y-yourself?"

"Do not pretend, Lucius. You wish the battle to cease so that you can discover what has happened to Draco. And I do not need to seek Potter. Before the night is out, Potter will have come to find me."

Voldemort dropped his gaze once more to the wand in his fingers. It troubled him… and those things that troubled Lord Voldemort needed to be rearranged… he called another of his Death Eaters into the room...

"Go and find me Parkinson."

"Parkinson, m-my Lord?" they queried.

"Pansy Parkinson. Now. I need her. There is a –service-- I require from her. And have someone drag this carrion somewhere else for now. Go."

Frightened, stumbling a little through the gloom, the Death Eater left the room. Another came and went, dragging Lucius Malfoy with him, it looked like he was too badly hurt to stand. Voldemort continued to stand there, twirling the wand between his fingers, staring at it.

"It is the only way, Nagini," he whispered, and he looked around, and there was the great thick snake, now suspended in midair, twisting gracefully within the enchanted, protected space he had made for her, a starry, transparent sphere somewhere between a glittering cage and a tank.

With a gasp, Harry pulled back and opened his eyes at the same moment his ears were assaulted with the screeches and cries, the smashes and bangs of battle.

"He's in the Shrieking Shack. The snake's with him, it's got some sort of magical protection around it.” He paused and decided it was best not to mention the capture of Lucius Malfoy. “He's just sent Death Eaters to find Pansy Parkinson, but I don’t know why."

"Voldemort's sitting in the Shrieking Shack?" said Hermione, outraged. "He's not--he's not even FIGHTING?"

She seemed to have recovered a little while he had been watching Voldemort.

"He doesn't think he needs to fight," said Harry. "He thinks I'm going to go to him."

"But why?" asked Draco.

"He knows I'm after Horcruxes-- he's keeping Nagini close beside him-- obviously I'm going to have to go to him to get near the thing--"

"Right," said Hermione, squaring her shoulders and visibly pulling herself together. "So you can't go, that's what he wants, what he's expecting. You stay here, Draco and I will go and get it--"

Harry cut across her. "You two stay here, I'll go under the Cloak and I'll be back as soon as I--"

"No," said Hermione. "it makes much more sense if I take the Cloak and--"

"Don't even think about it," Harry snapped at Draco, before he could get farther than "Granger, I'm just as capable --"

The tapestry at the top of the staircase on which they stood was ripped open. "POTTER!"

Two masked Death Eaters stood there, but even before their wands were fully raised, Hermione shouted "Glisseo!"

The stairs beneath their feet flattened into a chute and she, Harry, and Draco hurtled down it, unable to control their speed but so fast that the Death Eaters' Stunning Spells flew far over their heads. They shot through the concealing tapestry at the bottom and spun onto the floor, hitting the opposite wall.

"Duro!" cried Draco, pointing his wand at the tapestry, and there were two loud, sickening crunches as the tapestry turned to stone and the Death Eaters pursuing them crumpled against it.

"Get back!" shouted Harry, and he, Draco, and Hermione hurled themselves against a door as a herd of galloping desks thundered past, shepherded by a sprinting Professor McGonagall. She appeared not to notice them. Her hair had come down and there was a gash on her cheek. As she turned the corner, they heard her scream, "CHARGE!"

"Harry, you get the Cloak on," said Hermione. "Never mind us--" But he threw it over all three of them; large though they were he doubted anyone would see their disembodied feet through the dust that clogged the air, the falling stone, the shimmer of spells.

They ran down the next staircase and found themselves in a corridor full of duellers. The portraits on either side of the fighters were crammed with figures screaming advice and encouragement, while Death Eaters, both masked and unmasked, duelled students and teachers. Dean had won himself a wand, for he was face-to-face with Dolohov, Parvati with Travers. Harry, Draco and Hermione raised their wands at once, ready to strike, but the duellers were weaving and darting so much that there was a strong likelihood of hurting one of their own side if they cast curses. Even as they stood braced, looking for the opportunity to act, there came a great "Wheeeeee!" and looking up, Harry saw Peeves zoomimg over them, dropping Snargaluff pods down onto the Death Eaters, whose heads were suddenly engulfed in wriggling green tubers like fat worms.

"ARGH!" A fistful of tubers had hit the Cloak over Draco's head; the damp green roots were suspended improbably in midair as they tried to shake them loose.

"Someone's invisible there!" shouted a masked Death Eater, pointing.

Dean made the most of the Death Eater's momentary distraction, knocking him out with a stunning Spell; Dolohov attempted to retaliate, and Parvati shot a Body Bind Curse at him.

"LET'S GO!" Harry yelled, and he, Draco, and Hermione gathered the Cloak tightly around themselves and pelted, heads down, through the midst of the fighters, slipping a little in pools of Snargaluff juice, toward the top of the marble staircase into the entrance hall.

Suddenly Snape appeared beside them, looking around to try and figure out exactly where they were. “Potter? Draco?” he hissed.

Draco reached out and pinched his arm. “We’re here,” he whispered.

Snape tugged them out of the fight and into a shadowy corner. “There isn’t much time, I need to ask you something?” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Are you looking for the snake? For Nagini?”

“What?” barked Harry, then lowered his voice. “Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter, are you seeking her?”

“Yes,” said Draco, and Harry elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“There isn’t time for this,” said Harry. “We have to go.”

“This is important,” Snape snarled.

A Death Eater spotted them and went to attack, but Hermione hit him with a hex and he went down.

“Then tell me quickly!” demanded Harry.

“There isn’t… damn it...” Snape spat. Then with a twist of his wand he conjured a glass vial and put his wand to his head, withdrawing a silvery memory that seemed loathe to be removed, and dropping it in. “Quickly, swear to me, only Potter will watch this, and he’ll do it alone!”

“Why?” said Harry, reaching for the vial, which Snape held away from him.

“Swear it on Albus Dumbledore’s grave, Potter. Swear it or you will lose this battle!”

“Fuck’s sake, fine. I swear it.” Harry gasped.

Snape still held it away.

“On Dumbledore’s grave! Now give it to me.”

“You know where you can view it?”

“Yes, I know.”

“Fine.” Snape handed over the vial and Harry stowed it in his pocket.

As Snape headed off, Draco called after him. “Wait! Pansy needs help, Harry said Voldemort is looking for her.”

Snape spun back around. “My vow ended with Albus’s death. Miss Parkinson will have to fend for herself.” And he was gone.

There were more duellers all over the stairs and in the hall. Death Eaters everywhere Harry looked: Yaxley, close to the front doors, in combat with Flitwick, a masked Death Eater dueling Kingsley right beside them. Students ran in every direction; some carrying or dragging injured friends. Harry directed a Stunnning Spell toward the masked Death Eater; it missed but nearly hit Neville, who had emerged from nowhere brandishing armfuls of Venomous Tentacula, which looped itself happily around the nearest Death Eater and began reeling him in.

Harry, Draco, and Hermione sped down the marble staircase: glass shattered on the left, and the Slytherin hourglass that had recorded House points spilled its emeralds everywhere, so that people slipped and staggered as they ran. Two bodies fell from the balcony overhead as they reached the ground a grey blur that Harry took for an animal sped four-legged across the hall to sink its teeth into one of the fallen.

"NO!" shrieked Hermione, and with a deafening blast from her wand, Fenrir Greyback was thrown backward from the feebly struggling body of Lavender Brown. He hit the marble banisters and struggled to return to his feet. Then, with a bright white flash and a crack, a crystal ball fell on top of his head, and he crumpled to the ground and did not move.

"I have more!" shrieked Professor Trelawney from over the banisters. "More for any who want them! Here--" And with a move like a tennis serve, she heaved another enormous crystal sphere from her bag, waved her wand through the air, and caused the ball to speed across the hall and smash through a window. At the same moment, the heavy wooden front doors burst open, and more of the gigantic spiders forced their way into the front hall.

Screams of terror rent the air: the fighters scattered, Death Eaters and Hogwartians alike, and red and green jets of light flew into the midst of the oncoming monsters, which shuddered and reared, more terrifying than ever.

"How do we get out?" yelled Draco over all the screaming, but before either Harry or Hermione could answer they were bowled aside; Hagrid had come thundering down the stairs, brandishing his flowery pink umbrella.

"Don't hurt 'em, don't hurt 'em!" he yelled.

"HAGRID, NO!"

Harry forgot everything else: he sprinted out from under the cloak, running bent double to avoid the curses illuminating the whole hall.

"HAGRID, COME BACK!"

But he was not even halfway to Hagrid when he saw it happen: Hagrid vanished amongst the spiders, and with a great scurrying, a foul swarming movement, they retreated under the onslaught of spells, Hagrid buried in their midst.

"HAGRID!" Harry heard someone calling his own name, whether friend or foe he did not care: He was sprinting down the front steps into the dark grounds, and the spiders were swarming away with their prey, and he could see nothing of Hagrid at all.

"HAGRID!"

He thought he could make out an enormous arm waving from the midst of the spider swarm, but as he made to chase after them, his way was impeded by a monumental foot, which swung down out of the darkness and made the ground on which he stood shudder. He looked up: A giant stood before him, twenty feet high, its head hidden in shadow, nothing but its treelike, hairy shins illuminated by light from the castle doors. With one brutal, fluid movement, it smashed a massive fist through an upper window, and glass rained down upon Harry, forcing him back under the shelter of the doorway.

"Oh my--!" shrieked Hermione, as she and Draco caught up with Harry and gazed upward at the giant now trying to seize people through the window above.

"DON'T!" Draco yelled, grabbing Hermione's hand as she raised her wand. "Stun him and he'll crush half the castle--"

"HAGGER?"

Grawp came lurching around the corner of the castle; only now did Harry realise that Grawp was, indeed, an undersized giant. The gargantuan monster trying to crush people on the upper floors turned around and let out a roar. The stone steps trembled as he stomped toward his smaller kin, and Grawp's lopsided mouth fell open, showing yellow, half brick-sized teeth; and then they launched themselves at each other with the savagery of lions.

"RUN!" Harry roared; the night was full of hideous yells and blows as the giants wrestled, and he seized Draco's hand and tore down the steps into the grounds, Hermione bringing up the rear. Harry had not lost hope of finding and saving Hagrid; he ran so fast that they were halfway toward the forest before they were brought up short again.

The air around them had frozen: Harry's breath caught and solidified in his chest. Shapes moved out in the darkness, swirling figures of concentrated blackness, moving in a great wave towards the castles, their faces hooded and their breath rattling… Draco and Hermione closed in beside him as the sounds of fighting behind them grew suddenly muted, deadened, because a silence only dementors could bring was falling thickly through the night, and Ron was gone, and Hagrid was surely dying or already dead...

"Come on, Harry!" said Draco's voice from a very long way away. "Patronuses, Harry, come on!" he raised his wand, but a dull hopelessness was spreading throughout him: How many more lay dead that he did not yet know about? He felt as though his soul had already half left his body....

"HARRY, COME ON!" yelled Draco right in his ear.

A hundred dementors were advancing, gliding toward them, sucking their way closer to Harry's despair, which was like a promise of a feast...

He saw Draco's silver mountain lion burst into the air, flicker feebly, and expire; he saw Hermione's otter twist in midair and fade, and his own wand trembled in his hand, and he almost welcomed the oncoming oblivion, the promise of nothing, of no feeling...

And then a silver hare, a boar, and fox soared past Harry, Draco, and Hermione's heads: the dementors fell back before the creatures' approach. Three more people had arrived out of the darkness to stand beside them, their wands outstretched, continuing to cast Patronuses: Luna, Ernie, and Seamus.

"That's right," said Luna encouragingly, as if they were back in the Room of Requirement and this was simply spell practice for the D.A., "That's right, Harry...come on think of something happy..."

“Something happy?" he said, his voice cracked.

"We're all still here," she whispered, "we’re still fighting. Come on, now...."

There was a silver spark, then a wavering light, and then, with the greatest effort it had ever cost him the stag burst from the end of Harry's wand. It cantered forward, and now the dementors scattered in earnest, and immediately the night was mild again, but the sounds of the surrounding battle were loud in his ears.

"Can't thank you enough," said Hermione shakily, turning to Luna, Ernie, and Seamus "you just saved--"

With a roar and an earth-quaking tremor, another giant came lurching out of the darkness from the direction of the forest, brandishing a club taller than any of them.

"RUN!" Harry shouted again, but the others needed no telling; They all scattered, and not a second too soon, for the next moment the creature's vast foot had fallen exactly where they had been standing. Harry looked round: Draco and Hermione were following him, but the other three had vanished back into the battle.

"Let's get out of range!" yelled Draco as the giant swung its club again and its bellows echoed through the night, across the grounds where bursts of red and green light continued to illuminate the darkness.

"The Whomping Willow," said Harry, "go!"

Somehow he walled it all up in his mind, crammed it into a small space into which he could not look now: thoughts of Ron and Hagrid, and his terror for all the people he loved, scattered in and outside the castle, must all wait, because they had to run, had to reach the snake and Voldemort, because that was, as Draco said, the only way to end it--

He sprinted, half-believing he could outdistance death itself, ignoring the jets of light flying in the darkness all around him, and the sound of the lake crashing like the sea, and the creaking of the Forbidden Forest though the night was windless; through grounds that seemed themselves to have risen in rebellion, he ran faster than he had ever moved in his life, and it was he who saw the great tree first, the Willow that protected the secret at its roots with whiplike, slashing branches.

Panting and gasping, Harry slowed down, skirting the willow's swiping branches, peering through the darkness toward its thick trunk, trying to see the single knot in the bark of the old tree that would paralyse it. Draco and Hermione caught up, Hermione so out of breath that she could not speak.

"How--how're we going to get in?" panted Harry "I can--see the place--if we just had--Crookshanks again--"

"Crookshanks?" wheezed Draco, bent double, clutching his chest.

"Are you a wizard, or what?" snapped Hermione.

"Oh—right--yeah--" Harry looked around, then directed his wand at a twig on the ground and said "Winguardium Leviosa!" The twig flew up from the ground, spun through the air as if caught by a gust of wind, then zoomed directly at the trunk through the Willow's ominously swaying branches. It jabbed at a place near the roots, and at once, the writhing tree became still.

"Perfect!" panted Hermione.

"Wait." For one teetering second, while the crashes and booms of the battle filled the air, Harry hesitated. Voldemort wanted him to do this, wanted him to come...Was he leading Draco and Hermione into a trap?

But the reality seemed to close upon him, cruel and plain: the only way forward was to kill the snake, and the snake was where Voldemort was, and Voldemort was at the end of this tunnel...

"Harry, we're coming, just get in there!" said Hermione, pushing him forward.

Harry wriggled into the earthy passage hidden in the tree's roots.

It was a much tighter squeeze than it had been the last time they had entered it. The tunnel was low-ceilinged: they had had to double up to move through it nearly four years previously; now there was nothing for it but to crawl. Harry went first, his wand illuminated, expecting at any moment to meet barriers, but none came. They moved in silence, Harry's gaze fixed upon the swinging beam of the wand held in his fist. At last, the tunnel began to slope upward and Harry saw a sliver of light ahead. Draco tugged at his ankle.

"The Cloak!" he whispered. "Put the Cloak on!"

He groped behind him and he forced the bundle of slippery cloth into his free hand. With difficulty he dragged it over himself, murmered, "Nox," extinguishing his wandlight, and continued on his hands and knees, as silently as possible, all his senses straining, expecting every second to be discovered, to hear a cold clear voice, see a flash of green light. And then he heard voices coming from the room directly ahead of them, only slightly muffled by the fact that the opening at the end of the tunnel had been blocked up by what looked like an old crate. Hardly daring to breathe, Harry edged right up to the opening and peered through a tiny gap left between crate and wall.

The room beyond was dimly lit, but he could see Nagini, swirling and coiling like a serpent underwater, safe in her enchanted, starry sphere, which floated unsupported in midair. He could see the edge of a table, and a long-fingered white hand toying with a wand.

Then Pansy Parkinson spoke, and Harry's heart lurched: she was inches away from where he crouched, hidden.

"...my Lord, the school is falling--"

"--and it is doing so without you," said Voldemort in his high, clear voice. "I very much doubt you have been of any assistance, Pansy, but you can be yet. We are almost there… almost."

"Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find him, my Lord. Please," she pleaded, her voice thin and shaky.

Harry drew back a little, keeping his eyes fixed upon Nagini, wondering whether there was any spell that might penetrate the protection surrounding her, but he could not think of anything. One failed attempt, and he would give away his position...

Voldemort stood up. Harry could see him now, see the red eyes, the flattened, serpentine face, the pallor of him gleaming slightly in the semi-darkness.

"I have a problem, Pansy," said Voldemort softly.

"My Lord?" said Pansy.

Voldemort raised the Elder Wand, holding it as delicately and precisely as a conductor's baton.

"This wand, Dumbledore’s wand, does not seem to wish to work for me."

In the silence Harry imagined he could hear the snake hissing slightly as it coiled and uncoiled--or was it Voldemort's sibilant sigh lingering on the air?

"My--my lord?" said Pansy blankly. "I don’t understand. I don’t have a wand to give you, my Mother’s was lost in the battle."

"No," said Voldemort. "I do not require another wand of you. I wish to use this wand… but it has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago."

Voldemort's tone was musing, calm, but Harry's scar had begun to throb and pulse: Pain was building in his forehead, and he could feel that controlled sense of fury building inside Voldemort. Had he really just saved Pansy’s life only for Voldemort to kill her?

"No difference," said Voldemort again.

Pansy did not speak. Harry could not see her face. He wondered what she was thinking. Why Pansy? Why had he sent for her? He could feel Draco squirming to try and come closer in the tight passage, so he could watch with Harry. He wondered if Draco sensed the danger.

Voldemort started to move around the room: Harry lost sight of him for seconds as he prowled, speaking in that same measured voice, while the pain and fury mounted in Harry.

"I have thought long and hard, Pansy… do you know why I have brought you here to me?"

And for a moment Harry saw Pansy's profile. Her eyes were fixed upon the coiling snake in its enchanted cage. "No, my Lord, but I beg you to let me return. Let me find Potter."

"As if you could capture Potter. None of you understands him as I do. He does not need finding. Potter will come to me. I knew his weakness you see, his one great flaw. He will hate watching the others struck down around him, knowing that it is for him that it happens. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come. But it is of you that I wished to speak, Pansy, not Harry Potter. You have, despite yourself, been very valuable to me. Very valuable."

"My Lord knows I seek only to serve him," she gasped, sounding desperate.

"I very much doubt that," said Voldemort, and Harry caught the glint of red in his eyes as he turned again, and the swishing of his cloak was like the slithering of a snake, and he felt Voldemort's impatience in his burning scar. "But what I seek to discover is… why did both the wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?"

"I—I don’t know, my Lord."

"Don't you?"

The stab of rage felt like a spike driven through Harry's head: he forced his own fist into his mouth to stop himself from crying out in pain. He closed his eyes, and suddenly he was Voldemort, looking into Pansy's pale face.

"My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Pansy, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another's wand. I did so, but your Uncle’s wand shattered upon meeting Potter's."

"I--I don’t.…" Pansy was crying with fear and confusion.

"I sought a third wand, Pansy. the Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore."

"My Lord---"

"All this long night when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here," said Voldemort, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner...and I think I have the answer."

Pansy did not speak, her shoulders shook silently.

Beside him Draco began squirming even more furiously, but Harry could barely feel him, he could only see Pansy and feel Voldemort’s rising gleeful fury.

"Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever girl, after all, Pansy."

"My Lord--"

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Pansy, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard… or rather witch, who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, the Elder Wand cannot truly be mine."

Pansy’s mouth gaped silently, tears glistening on her cheeks as she realised the moment she feared had come, for reasons she barely understood.

"It cannot be any other way," said Voldemort. "I must master the wand, Pansy. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Pansy, who for a split second seemed to think she had been reprieved: but then Voldemort's intention became clear. The snake's cage was rolling through the air, and before Pansy could do anything more than yell, it had encased her, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue.

"Kill."

There was a terrible scream. Harry saw Pansy's face losing the little colour it had left; it whitened as her dark eyes widened, as the snake's fangs pierced her neck, as she failed to push the enchanted cage off herself, as her knees gave way and she fell to the floor.

"Such a little death," said Voldemort coldly. “For such a great reward.” He turned away; there was no sadness in him, no remorse. It was time to leave this shack and take charge, with a wand that would now do his full bidding. He pointed it at the starry cage holding the snake, which drifted upward, off Pansy, who fell sideways onto the floor, blood gushing from the wounds in her neck. Voldemort swept from the room without a backward glance, and the great serpent floated after him in its huge protective sphere.

Back in the tunnel and his own mind, Harry opened his eyes; He had drawn blood biting down on his knuckles in an effort not to shout out. Now he was looking through the tiny crack between crate and wall, watching a slender foot in a black court shoe trembling on the floor.

"Harry!" breathed Hermione behind him, but he had already pointed his wand at the crate blocking his view. It lifted an inch into the air and drifted sideways silently. As quietly as he could, he pulled himself up into the room.

Behind him he heard Hermione release Draco from whatever spell it was she had put on him to prevent him from pushing past Harry and bursting into the room.

He did not know why he was doing it, why he was approaching the dying girl: he did not know what he felt as he saw Pansy's white face, and the fingers trying to staunch the bloody wound at her neck. As Harry took off the invisibility cloak, Draco shoved past him and fell down at her side.

He looked down upon the girl who had once been his friend, whose widening dark brown eyes found Draco as she tried to speak. Draco bent over her, and Pansy seized the front of his robes and pulled him close.

A terrible rasping, gurgling noise issued from her throat. "Sorry… so sorry…"

“Pansy,” Draco gasped.

“I… tried...” she managed, but her life was leaving her.

“I know, I know you did,” Draco was crying, swiping at his eyes. “You’ll be all right, hold on.”

But Pansy just shook her head weakly, her grip on Draco's robes slackened. "Look...at....me..." she whispered.

The grey eyes held hers, but after a second, something in the depths of the dark pair seemed to vanish, leaving them fixed, blank, and empty. The hand holding Draco thudded to the floor, and Pansy moved no more.

  



	12. Dumbledore's Last Secret

Draco remained kneeling at Pansy’s side, simply staring down at her, until quite suddenly a high, cold voice spoke so close to them that Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, thinking that Voldemort had re-entered the room.

Voldemort’s voice reverberated from the walls and floor, and Harry realized that he was talking to Hogwarts and to all the surrounding area, that the residents of Hogsmeade and all those still fighting in the castle would hear him as clearly as if he stood beside them, his breath on the back of their necks, a deathblow away.

“You have fought,” said the high, cold voice, “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.

“Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.

“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

Both Draco and Hermione shook their heads frantically, looking at Harry.

“Don’t listen to him,” said Draco.

“It’ll be all right,” said Hermione wildly. “Let’s – let’s get back to the castle, if he’s gone to the forest we’ll need to think of a new plan – ”

She glanced at Pansy’s body, then hurried back to the tunnel entrance. Harry gathered up the Invisibility Cloak, then looked down at Draco and Pansy. He extended his hand and after a moment Draco took it and allowed Harry to pull him to his feet and into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he simply said.

He didn’t know what to think about this girl who had seemed trapped between two opposing forces, unable to quite get herself free. He did not know what to feel, except shock at the way Pansy had been killed, and the reason for which it had been done… but they all had to keep going.

Draco silently levitated Pansy’s body and they crawled back through the tunnel, none of them talking, and Harry wondered whether Draco and Hermione could still hear Voldemort ringing in their heads as he could.

You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest...One hour...

Small bundles seemed to litter the lawn at the front of the castle. It could only be an hour or so from dawn, yet it was pitch-black. The three of them hurried toward the stone steps. A lone clog, the size of a small boat, lay abandoned in front of them. There was no other sign of Grawp or of his attacker.

The castle was unnaturally silent. There were no flashes of light now, no bangs or screams or shouts. The flagstones of the deserted entrance hall were stained with blood. Emeralds were still scattered all over the floor, along with pieces of marble and splintered wood. Part of the banisters had been blown away.

“Where is everyone?” whispered Hermione.

Harry led the way to the Great Hall, but stopped in the doorway. The House tables were gone and the room was crowded. The survivors stood in groups, their arms around each other’s necks. The injured were being treated upon the raised platform by Madam Pomfrey and a group of helpers. Firenze was amongst the injured; his flank poured blood and he shook where he lay, unable to stand.

The dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall. Harry could not see Ron’s body, because his family surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Mrs. Weasley was lying across Ron’s chest, her body shaking. Fred stroking her hair while tears cascaded down his cheeks.

Without a word to Harry, Draco and Hermione walked away. Draco towing Pansy’s still body beside him, to lay it with the others.

Harry saw Hermione approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and hug her. As Ginny and Hermione moved closer to the rest of the family, Harry had a clear view of the body lying next to Ron.

Sirius lay, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.

The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Harry reeled backward from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to look for Remus, or to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Ron might never have died...

He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. Ron, Sirius... He yearned not to feel... He wished he could rip out his heart, his innards, everything that was screaming inside him...

The castle was completely empty; even the ghosts seemed to have joined the mass mourning in the Great Hall. Harry ran without stopping, clutching the crystal vial that Snape had given him, and he did not slow down until he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster’s office.

“Password?”

“Dumbledore!” said Harry without thinking, because it was he whom he yearned to see, and to his surprise the gargoyle slid aside revealing the spiral staircase behind.

But when Harry burst into the circular office he found a change. The portraits that hung all around the walls were empty. Not a single headmaster or headmistress remained to see him; all, it seemed, had flitted away, charging through the paintings that lined the castle so that they could have a clear view of what was going on.

Harry glanced hopelessly at Dumbledore’s deserted frame, which hung directly behind the headmaster’s chair, then turned his back on it. The stone Pensieve lay in the cabinet where it had always been. Harry heaved it onto the desk and poured Snape’s memories into the wide basin with its runic markings around the edge. To escape into someone else’s head would be a blessed relief... Nothing that even Snape wanted him to see could be worse than his own thoughts. The memories swirled, silver white and strange, and without hesitating, with a feeling of reckless abandonment, as though this would assuage his torturing grief, Harry dived.

He fell headlong into sunlight, and his feet found warm ground. When he straightened up, he saw that he was in a nearly deserted playground. A single huge chimney dominated the distant skyline. Two girls were swinging backward and forward, and a skinny boy was watching them from behind a clump of bushes. His black hair was over long and his clothes were so mismatched that it looked deliberate: too short jeans, a shabby, over large coat that might have belonged to a grown man, an odd smock-like shirt.

He had seen this memory before, Snape had shown it to him back in fifth year.

Harry moved closer to the boy. Snape looked no more than nine or ten years old, sallow, small, stringy. There was undisguised greed in his thin face as he watched the younger of the two girls swinging higher and higher than her sister.

“Lily, don’t do it!” shrieked the elder of the two.

But the girl had let go of the swing at the very height of its arc and flown into the air, quite literally flown, launched herself skyward with a great shout of laughter, and instead of crumpling on the playground asphalt, she soared like a trapeze artist through the air, staying up far too long, landing far too lightly.

The memory wavered and jumped, Harry realised that Snape had included this memory again by mistake. For some reason his thoughts had been with Harry’s mother as he had been removing the memory he wanted Harry to see. What had shaken Severus Snape enough that he had messed up a simple memory removal?

Lily had picked up a fallen flower from the bush behind which Snape lurked. Petunia advanced, evidently torn between curiosity and disapproval. Lily waited until Petunia was near enough to have a clear view, then held out her palm. The flower sat there, opening and closing its petals, like some bizarre, many-lipped oyster.

“Stop it!” shrieked Petunia.

“It’s not hurting you,” said Lily, but she closed her hand on the blossom and threw it back to the ground.

“It’s not right,” said Petunia, but her eyes had followed the flower’s flight to the ground and lingered upon it. “How do you do it?” she added, and there was definite longing in her voice.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Snape could no longer contain himself, but had jumped out from behind the bushes. Petunia shrieked and ran backward toward the swings, but Lily, though clearly startled, remained where she was. Snape seemed to regret his appearance. A dull flush of colour mounted the sallow cheeks as he looked at Lily.

“What’s obvious?” asked Lily.

Snape had an air of nervous excitement. With a glance at the distant Petunia, now hovering beside the swings, he lowered his voice and said, “I know what you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re...you’re a witch,” whispered Snape.

The scene dissolved, snippets flying past him.

Harry watched as a much older Snape shouted at Lily in his humiliation and his fury, the unforgivable word: “Mudblood.”

The scene changed...

“I’m sorry.” Snape pleaded.

“I’m not interested.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Save your breath,” Lily told him.

Harry seemed to fly through shifting shapes and colours until his surroundings swam into view again and he stood on a hilltop, forlorn and cold in the darkness, the wind whistling through the branches of a few leafless trees. Snape was wringing his hands. He looked a little mad, with his straggling black hair flying around him.

“I – I come with a warning – no, a request – please – ”

Dumbledore flicked his wand. Though leaves and branches still flew through the night air around them, silence fell on the spot where he and Snape faced each other.

“What request could a Death Eater make of me?”

“The – the prophecy...the prediction...Trelawney...”

“Ah, yes,” said Dumbledore. “How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?”

“Everything – everything I heard!” said Snape. “That is why – it is for that reason – he thinks it means Lily Evans!”

The scene stuttered.

“Hide them all, then,” Snape croaked. “Keep her – them – safe. Please.”

The hilltop faded, and Harry stood in Dumbledore’s office, and something was making a terrible sound, like a wounded animal. Snape was slumped forward in a chair and Dumbledore was standing over him, looking grim. After a moment or two, Snape raised his face, and he looked like a man who had lived a hundred years of misery since leaving the wild hilltop.

“I thought...you were going...to keep her...safe...”

“Her boy survives,” said Dumbledore. “You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.”

The scene shifted again, and now Harry saw Snape and Dumbledore strolling together in the deserted castle grounds by twilight. This memory was sharp and solid in a way the others had not been, this was finally the memory Snape had intended to give him.

“What are you doing with Potter, all these evenings you are closeted together?” Snape asked abruptly.

Dumbledore looked weary. “Why? You aren’t trying to give him more detentions, Severus? The boy will soon have spent more time in detention than out.”

“A little discipline is good for him, but you are avoiding the question.”

“I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it is too late.”

“Information,” repeated Snape. “You trust him...you do not trust me.”

“It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do.”

“And why may I not have the same information?”

“I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that is so assiduously sought by Lord Voldemort.”

“He wants the boy far more than he wants me! Yet you confide much more in a child who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord’s mind!”

“Voldemort fears that connection,” said Dumbledore. “Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry’s mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Lord Voldemort’s soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry’s. Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame – ”

“Souls? We were talking of minds!”

“In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other.”

Dumbledore glanced around to make sure that they were alone. They were close by the Forbidden Forest now, but there was no sign of anyone near them.

“After you have killed me, Severus – ”

“You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me!” snarled Snape, and real anger flared in the thin face now. “You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore! Perhaps I have changed my mind!”

“You gave me your word, Severus. And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?”

Snape looked angry, mutinous. Dumbledore sighed.

“Come to my office tonight, Severus, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you...”

They were back in Dumbledore’s office, the windows dark, and Fawkes sat silent as Snape sat quite still, as Dumbledore walked around him, talking.

“Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?”

“But what must he do?”

“That is between Harry and me. Now listen closely, Severus. There will come a time – after my death – do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time close to the end, when things seem near to being over. I must trust you to identify the moment.”

“What moment?” Snape looked confused.

“I cannot tell exactly. But I think you will know, there will be a battle, I suspect. But the final sign that it is time, Voldemort will keep his snake, Nagini, near, and Potter will be trying to get to her, trying to kill her. Then I think, it will be not only safe, but essential, to tell Harry, and only Harry.”

“Tell him what?”

Dumbledore took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsed building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, un-missed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.”

Harry seemed to be watching the two men from one end of a long tunnel, they were so far away from him, their voices echoing strangely in his ears.

“So the boy...the boy must die?” asked Snape quite calmly.

“And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential.”

Another long silence. Then Snape said, “I thought...all those years...that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.”

“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength,” said Dumbledore, his eyes still tight shut. “Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth. Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort.”

Dumbledore opened his eyes. Snape looked horrified.

“You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?”

“Don’t be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?”

“Lately, only those whom I could not save,” said Snape. He stood up. “You have used me.”

“Meaning?”

“I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter – ”

“But this is touching, Severus,” said Dumbledore seriously. “Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?”

“For him?” shouted Snape. “Expecto Patronum! ”

From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe. She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.

“After all this time?”

“Always,” said Snape, his face pained.

Harry rose up out of the Pensieve, and moments later he lay on the carpeted floor in exactly the same rooms. Snape and Dumbledore might just have left.

  



	13. The Forest Again

The Snitch. His nerveless fingers fumbled for a moment with the pouch at his neck and he pulled it out.

‘I open at the close.’

Breathing fast and hard, he stared down at it. Now that he wanted time to move as slowly as possible, he seemed to have sped up, and understanding was coming so fast it seemed to have bypassed thought. This was the close.

This was the moment.

He pressed the golden metal to his lips and whispered, “I am about to die.”

The metal shell broke open. He lowered his shaking hand, raised Pansy’s wand beneath the Cloak, and murmured, “Lumos.”

The black stone with a jagged crack running down the centre sat in the two halves of the Snitch. The Resurrection Stone had cracked down the vertical line representing the Elder Wand. The triangle and circle representing the Cloak and the stone were still discernible.

And again Harry understood without having to think. It did not matter about bringing them back, for he was about to join them. He was not really fetching them: They were fetching him.

He closed his eyes and turned the stone over in his hand three times.

He knew it had happened, because he heard slight movements around him that suggested frail bodies shifting their footing on the earthy, twig-strewn ground that marked the outer edge of the forest. He opened his eyes and looked around.

They were neither ghost nor truly flesh, he could see that. They resembled most closely the Riddle that had escaped from the diary so long ago, and he had been memory made nearly solid. Less substantial than living bodies, but much more than ghosts, they moved toward him. And on each face, there was the same loving smile.

James was exactly the same height as Harry. He was wearing the clothes in which he had died, and his hair was untidy and ruffled, and his glasses were a little lopsided, a bit like Mr. Weasley’s, who walked not far behind him smiling patiently.

Ron looked just as he had been, but less exhausted. The same clothes he had been wearing, but no longer filthy and torn. No longer covered in blood.

Sirius was tall and handsome, and younger by far than Harry had seen him in life. He loped with an easy grace, his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. He looked content to be back in this familiar place, scene of so many adolescent wanderings.

Lily’s smile was widest of all. She pushed her long hair back as she drew closer to him, and her green eyes, so like his, searched his face hungrily, as though she would never be able to look at him enough.

“You’ve been so brave.”

He could not speak. His eyes feasted on her, and he thought that he would like to stand and look at her forever, and that would be enough.

“You are nearly there,” said James. “Very close. We are . . . so proud of you.”

“Does it hurt?” The childish question had fallen from Harry’s lips before he could stop it.

“Dying? Not at all,” said Sirius. “Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”

“And he will want it to be quick. He wants it over,” said Mr. Weasley.

“I didn’t want you to die,” Harry said. These words came without his volition.

“Any of you. I’m so sorry -“ He addressed one person more than any of them, beseeching him. “- right after you and Hermione had sorted things out . . . Ron, I’m sorry -“

“I’m sorry too,” said Ron. “But we all knew it could happen, we all knew what we were getting into. You’ll watch out for her won’t you?”

“Of course, of course I will,” Harry promised.

A chilly breeze that seemed to emanate from the heart of the forest lifted the hair at Harry’s brow. He knew that they would not tell him to go, that it would have to be his decision.

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Until the very end,” said James.

“They won’t be able to see you?” asked Harry.

“We are part of you,” said Sirius. “Invisible to anyone else.”

Harry looked at his mother.

“Stay close to me,” he said quietly.

And he set off. The dementors’ chill did not overcome him; he passed through it with his companions, and they acted like Patronuses to him, and together they marched through the old trees that grew closely together, their branches tangled, their roots gnarled and twisted underfoot. Harry clutched the Cloak tightly around him in the darkness, travelling deeper and deeper into the forest, with no idea where exactly Voldemort was, but sure that he would find him.

Beside him, making scarcely a sound, walked James, Sirius, Ron, Mr Weasley, and Lily, and their presence was his courage, and the reason he was able to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

His body and mind felt oddly disconnected now, his limbs working without conscious instruction, as if he were passenger, not driver, in the body he was about to leave. The dead who walked beside him through the forest were much more real to him now than the living back at the castle: Draco, Hermione, Remus, and all the others were the ones who felt like ghosts as he stumbled and slipped toward the end of his life, toward Voldemort . . . Draco would be so angry with him … but he couldn’t think about that now...

  



	14. The Flaw in the Plan

He was lying face down on the ground again. The smell of the forest filled his nostrils. He could feel the cold hard ground beneath his cheek, and the hinge of his glasses which had been knocked sideways by the fall cutting into his temple. Every inch of him ached, and the place where Killing Curse had hit him felt like the bruise of an iron-clad punch. He did not stir, but he remained exactly where he had fallen, with his left arm bent out at an awkward angle and his mouth gaping.

He had expected to hear cheer of triumph and jubilation at his death, but instead hurried footsteps, whispers, and solicitous murmurs filled the air.

"My Lord… my Lord..."

It was Bellatrix's voice, and she spoke as if to a lover. Harry did not dare open his eyes, but allowed his other senses to explore his predicament. He knew that his wand was still stowed beneath his robes because he could feel it pressed between his chest and the ground. A slight cushioning effect in the area of his stomach told him that the Invisibility Cloak was also there, stuffed out of sight.

" My Lord..."

"That will do," said Voldemort's voice.

More footsteps. Several people were backing away from the same spot.

Desperate to see what was happening and why, Harry opened his eyes by a millimetre.

Voldemort seemed to be getting to his feet. Various Death Eaters were hurrying away from him, returning to the crowd lining the clearing. He could see Narcissa Malfoy standing back near a crumpled form on the ground, Lucius Malfoy.

Bellatrix alone remained behind, kneeling beside Voldemort.

Harry closed his eyes again and considered what he had seen. The Death Eaters had been huddled around Voldemort, who seem to have fallen to the ground. Something had happened when he had hit Harry with the Killing Curse. Had Voldemort too collapsed? It seemed like it. And both of them had briefly fallen unconscious and both of them had now returned. . .

"My Lord, let me --"

"I do not require assistance," said Voldemort coldly, and though he could not see it, Harry pictured Bellatrix withdrawing a helpful hand. "The boy . . . Is he dead?"

There was a complete silence in the clearing. Nobody approached Harry, but he felt their concentrated gaze; it seemed to press him harder into the ground, and he was terrified a finger or an eyelid might twitch.

"You," said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small cry of pain. "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."

Harry did not know who had been sent to verify. He could only lie there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and wait to be examined, but at the same time knowing, small comfort through it was, that Voldemort was wary of approaching him, that Voldemort suspected that all had not gone to plan . . . .

A dragging gait approached him slowly. Finally hands touched Harry's face, and felt his heart. He could hear someone’s fast breathing, the pounding of life against his ribs.

"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?"

The whisper was barely audible, his lips were an inch from his ear, his head bent so low that his long hair shielded his face from the onlookers.

"Yes," he breathed back.

He felt the hand on his chest contract: his ragged nails pierced him. Then it was withdrawn. He had sat up.

"He is dead!" Lucius Malfoy called hoarsely to the watchers.

And now they shouted, now they yelled in triumph and stamped their feet, and through his eyelids, Harry saw bursts of red and silver light shoot into the air in celebration.

Still feigning death on the ground, he understood. Lucius knew that the only way he would be permitted to enter Hogwarts, and find his son, was as part of the conquering army. He was bargaining on surviving that long, or if not him then Narcissa.

"You see?" screeched Voldemort over the tumult. "Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio! "

Harry had been expecting it, knew his body would not be allowed to remain unsullied upon the forest floor; it must be subjected to humiliation to prove Voldemort's victory. He was lifted into the air, and it took all his determination to remain limp, yet the pain he expected did not come. He was thrown once, twice, three times into the air. His glasses flew off and he felt his wand slide a little beneath his robes, but he kept himself floppy and lifeless, and when he fell to the ground for the last time, the clearing echoed with jeers and shrieks of laughter.

"Now," said Voldemort, "we go to the castle, and show them what has become of their hero. Who shall drag the body? No, Lucius – Avada Kedavra- "

Harry heard a gasp nearby and the thud of a body striking the ground. Lucius would not after all live to find his son, Harry felt an unexpected pang at his death.

There was a fresh outbreak of laughter, and after a few moments Harry felt the ground trembling beneath him.

"You carry him," Voldemort said. "He will be nice and visible in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid. And the glasses - put on the glasses - he must be recognizable - "

Someone slammed Harry's glasses back onto his face with deliberate force, but the enormous hands that lifted him into the air were exceedingly gentle. Harry could feel Hagrid's arms trembling with the force of his heaving sobs; great tears splashed down upon him as Hagrid cradled Harry in his arms, and Harry did not dare, by movement or word, to intimate to Hagrid that all was not, yet, lost.

"Move," said Voldemort, and Hagrid stumbled forward, forcing his way through the close-growing trees, back through the forest. Branches caught at Harry's hair and robes, but he lay quiescent, his mouth lolling open, his eyes shut, and in the darkness, while the Death Eaters crowded all around them, and while Hagrid sobbed blindly, nobody looked to see whether a pulse beat in the exposed neck of Harry Potter. . . .

The two giants crashed along behind the Death Eaters; Harry could hear trees creaking and falling as they passed; they made so much din that birds rose shrieking into the sky, and even the jeers of the Death Eaters were drowned. The victorious procession marched on toward the open ground, and after a while Harry could tell, by the lightening of the darkness through his closed eyelids, that the trees were beginning to thin.

"BANE!"

Hagrid's unexpected bellow nearly forced Harry's eyes open. "Happy now, are yeh, that yeh didn't fight, yeh cowardly bunch o' nags? Are yeh happy Harry Potter's - d-dead . . . ?"

Hagrid could not continue, but broke down in fresh tears. Harry wondered how many centaurs were watching their procession pass; he dared not open his eyes to look. Some of the Death Eaters called insults at the centaurs as they left them behind. A little later, Harry sensed, by a freshening of the air, that they had reached the edge of the forest.

"Stop."

Harry thought that Hagrid must have been forced to obey Voldemort's command, because he lurched a little. And now a chill settled over them where they stood, and Harry heard the rasping breath of the dementors that patrolled the other trees. They would not affect him now.

The fact of his own survival burned inside him, a talisman against them, as though his father's stag kept guardian in his heart. Someone passed close by Harry, and he knew that it was Voldemort himself because he spoke a moment later, his voice magically magnified so that it swelled through the ground, crashing upon Harry's eardrums.

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.

"The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

There was silence in the grounds and from the castle. Voldemort was so close to him that Harry did not dare open his eyes again.

"Come," said Voldemort, and Harry heard him move ahead, and Hagrid was forced to follow. Now Harry opened his eyes a fraction, and saw Voldemort striding in front of them, wearing the great snake Nagini around his shoulders, now free of her enchanted cage. But Harry had no possibility of extracting the wand concealed under his robes without being noticed by the Death Eaters, who marched on the either side of them through the slowly lightening darkness . . . .

"Harry," sobbed Hagrid. "Oh, Harry . . . Harry . . ."

Harry shut his eyes tight again. He knew that they were approaching the castle and strained his ears to distinguish, above the gleeful voices of the Death Eaters and their tramping footsteps, signs of life from those within.

"Stop."

The Death Eaters came to a halt; Harry heard them spreading out in a line facing the open front doors of the school. He could see, even through his closed lids, the reddish glow that meant light streamed upon him from the entrance hall. He waited. Any moment, the people for whom he had tried to die would see him, lying apparently dead, in Hagrid's arms.

"NO!"

The scream was the more terrible because he had never expected or dreamed that Professor McGonagall could make such a sound. He heard another women laughing nearby, and knew that Bellatrix gloried in McGonagall's despair.

He squinted again for a single second and saw the open doorway filling with people, as the survivors of the battle came out onto the front steps to face their vanquishers and see the truth of Harry's death for themselves. He saw Voldemort standing a little in front of him, stroking Nagini's head with a single white finger. He closed his eyes again.

"No!"

"No!"

"Harry! HARRY!"

Draco and Hermione's voices were worse than McGonagall's; Harry wanted nothing more than to call back, yet he made himself lie silent, and their cries acted like a trigger; the crowd of survivors took up the cause, screaming and yelling abuse at the Death Eathers, until -

"SILENCE!" cried Voldemort, and there was a bang and a flash of bright light, and silence was forced upon them all. "It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!"

Harry felt himself lowered onto the grass.

"You see? said Voldemort, and Harry felt him striding backward and forward right beside the place where he lay. "Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

"He beat you! Over and over!" screamed Hermione, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more.

"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds," said Voldemort, and there was a relish in his voice for the lie. "killed while trying to save himself - "

But Voldemort broke off: Harry heard a scuffle and a shout, then another bang, a flash of light, and grunt of pain; he opened his eyes an infinitesimal amount. Someone had broken free of the crowd and charged at Voldemort: Harry saw the figure hit the ground. Disarmed, Voldemort throwing the challenger's wand aside and laughing.

"And who is this?" he said in his soft snake's hiss. "Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"

Bellatrix gave a delighted laugh. "It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"

"Ah, yes, I remember," said Voldemort, looking down at Neville, who was struggling back to his feet, unarmed and unprotected, standing in the no-man's-land between the survivors and the Death Eaters. "But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy? Voldemort asked Neville, who stood facing him, his empty hands curled in fists.

"So what if I am?" said Neville loudly.

"You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

"I'll join you when hell freezes over," said Neville. "Dumbledore's Army!" he shouted, and there was an answering cheer from the crowd, whom Voldemort's Silencing Charms seemed unable to hold.

"Very well," said Voldemort, and Harry heard more danger in the silkiness of his voice than in the most powerful curse. "If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head," he said quietly, "be it."

Still watching through his lashes, Harry saw Voldemort wave his wand. Seconds later, out of one of the castle's shattered windows, something that looked like a misshapen bird flew through the half light and landed in Voldemort's hand. He shook the mildewed object by its pointed end and it dangled, empty and ragged: the Sorting Hat.

"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School," said Voldemort. "There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"

He pointed his wand at Neville, who grew rigid and still, then forced the hat onto Neville's head, so that it slipped down below his eyes. There were movements from the watching crowd in front of the castle, and as one, the Death Eaters raised their wands, holding the fighters of Hogwarts at bay.

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me," said Voldemort, and with a flick of his wand, he caused the Sorting Hat to burst into flames.

Screams split the dawn, and Neville was a flame, rooted to the spot, unable to move, and Harry could not bear it: He must act -

And then many things happened at the same moment.

They heard uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the out-of-sight walls and pelted toward the castle, uttering loud war cries. At the same time, Grawp came lumbering around the side of the castle and yelled, "HAGGER!" His cry was answered by roars from Voldemort's giants: They ran at Grawp like bull elephants making the earth quake. Then came hooves and the twangs of bows, and arrows were suddenly falling amongst the Death Eaters, who broke ranks, shouting their surprise. Harry pulled the Invisibilty Cloak from inside his robes, swung it over himself, and sprang to his feet, as Neville moved too.

In one swift, fluid motion, Neville broke free of the Body-Bind Curse upon him; the flaming hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle -

The slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd or the sounds of the clashing giants or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet, it seemed to draw every eye. With a single stroke Neville sliced off the great snake's head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the entrance hall, and Voldemort's mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody could hear, and the snake's body thudded to the ground at his feet-

Hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, Harry cast a Shield Charm between Neville and Voldemort before the latter could raise his stamps of the battling giants, Hagrid's yell came loudest of all.

"HARRY!" Hagrid shouted. "HARRY - WHERE'S HARRY?"

Chaos reigned. The charging centaurs were scattering the Death Eaters, everyone was feeling the giants' stamping feet, and nearer and nearer thundered the reinforcements that had come from who knew where; Harry saw great winged creatures soaring over the heads of Voldemort's giants, thestrals and Buckbeak the hippogriff scratching at their eyes while Grawp punched and pummelled them and now the wizards, defenders of Hogwarts and Death Eaters alike were being forced back into the castle. Harry was shooting jinxes and curses at any Death Eater he could see, and they crumpled, not knowing what or who had hit them, and their bodies were trampled by the retreating crowd. Still hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, Harry was buffered into the entrance hall: He was searching for Voldemort and saw him across the room, firing spells from his wand as he backed into the Great Hall, still screaming instructions to his followers as he sent curses flying left and right; Harry cast more Shield Charms, and Voldemort's would-be victims. Seamus Finnigan and Hannah Abbott, darted past him into the Great Hall, where they joined the fight already flourishing inside it.

And now there were more, even more people storming up the front steps, and Harry saw Charlie Weasley overtaking Horace Slughorn, who was wearing his emerald pyjamas. They seemed to have come at the head of what looked like the families and friends of every Hogwarts student who had remained to fight along with the shopkeepers and homeowners of Hogsmeade. The centaurs Bane, Ronan and Magorian burst into the hall with a great clatter of hooves, as behind Harry the door that led to the kitchens was blasted off its hinges.

The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the entrance hall, screaming and waving carving knives and cleaver, and at their head, the locket of Regulus Black bouncing on his chest, was Kreacher, his bullfrog's voice audible even above this din:

"Fight! Fight! Fight for Harry Potter, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!"

They were hacking and stabbing at the ankles and shim of Death Eaters their tiny faces alive with malice, and everywhere Harry looked Death Eaters were folding under sheer weight of numbers, overcome by spells, dragging arrows from wounds, stabbed in the leg by elves, or else simply attempting to escape, but swallowed by the oncoming horde.

But it was not over yet: Harry sped between duellers, past struggling prisoners, and into the Great Hall.

 


	15. It's Finally Over

One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and the first to reach him were Draco and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then Remus, and Fred and George, and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last.

 

The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light. Harry was an indispensable part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration. They wanted him there with them, their leader and symbol, their saviour and their guide, and that he had not slept, that he craved the company of only a few of them, seemed to occur to no one. He must speak to the bereaved, clap their hands, witness their tears, receive their thanks, hear the news now creeping in from every quarter as the morning drew on; that the Imperiused up and down the country had come back to themselves, that Death Eaters were fleeing or else being captured, that the innocent of Azkaban were being released at that very moment, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named temporary Minister of Magic....

They moved Voldemort’s body and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away from the bodies of Ron, Sirius, Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown, and fifty others who had died fighting him. McGonagall had replaced the House tables, but nobody was sitting according to House anymore: All were jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents, centaurs and house-elves, and Firenze lay recovering in a corner, and Grawp peered in through a smashed window, and people were throwing food into his laughing mouth. After a while, exhausted and drained, Harry found himself sitting on a bench beside Luna.

“I’d want some peace and quite, if it were me,” she said.

“I’d love some,” he replied.

“I’ll distract them all,” she said. “Use your Cloak.”

And before he could say a word she cried, “Oooh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger!” and pointed out of the window. Everyone who heard looked around, and Harry slid the Cloak up over himself, and got to his feet.

Now he could move through the Hall without interference. He spotted Remus Lupin two tables away; he was sitting with his head in his hands: There would be time to talk about Sirius later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk. He saw Neville, the sword of Gryffindor lying beside his plate as he ate, surrounded by a knot of fervent admirers. Everywhere he looked he saw families reunited in celebration or mourning. Along the aisle between the tables he walked, and he spotted Narcissa huddled together with Draco, both of them in tears. And only a few feet from Draco, Hermione sat on her own looking content but deeply sad, it was their company he craved most.

“It’s me,” he muttered, standing between them. “Will you come with me?”

Draco whispered something to his Mother and then he and Hermione stood up, and together they left the Great Hall with Harry. Great chunks were missing from the marble staircase, part of the balustrade was gone, and rubble and bloodstains occurred every few steps as they climbed.

Somewhere in the distance they could hear Peeves zooming through the corridors singing a victory song of his own composition:

“We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter’s the one, And Voldy’s gone mouldy, so now let’s have fun!”

“Really gives a feeling for the scope and tragedy of it all,” said Draco wryly, pushing open a door to let Harry and Hermione through.

Happiness would come, Harry thought, but at the moment it was muffled by exhaustion, and the pain of losing Ron and Sirius pierced him like a physical wound every few steps. Most of all he felt the most stupendous relief, and a longing to sleep. But first he owed an explanation to Draco and Hermione, who had stuck with him for so long, and who deserved the truth.

Painstakingly he recounted what he had seen in Snape’s memory after they had failed to save Pansy Parkinson, and what had happened in the forest, and they had not even begun to express all their shock and amazement when at last they arrived at the place to which they had been walking, though none of them had mentioned their destination.

Since he had last seen it, the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster’s study had been knocked aside; it stood lopsided, looking a little punch-drunk, and Harry wondered whether it would be able to distinguish passwords anymore. “Can we go up?” he asked the gargoyle.

“Feel free.” groaned the statue.

They clambered over him and onto the spiral stone staircase that moved slowly upward like an escalator. Harry pushed open the door at the top.

He had one, brief glimpse of the stone Pensieve on the desk where they had left it, and then an earsplitting noise made him cry out, thinking of curses and returning Death Eaters and the rebirth of Voldemort—

But it was applause. All around the walls, the headmasters and head mistresses of Hogwarts were giving him a standing ovation; they waved their hats and in some cases their wigs, they reached through their frames to grip each other’s hands; they danced up and down on the chairs in which they had been painted; Dilys Derwent sobbed unashamedly; Dexter Fortescue was waving his ear-trumpet; and Phineas Nigellus called, in his high, reedy voice, “And let it be noted that Slytherin House played its part! Let our contribution not be forgotten!”

But Harry had eyes only for the man who stood in the largest portrait directly behind the headmaster’s chair. Tears were sliding down from behind the half-moon spectacles into the long silver beard, and the pride and the gratitude emanating from him filled Harry with the same balm as phoenix song.

At last, Harry held up his hands, and the portraits fell respectfully silent, beaming and mopping their eyes and waiting eagerly for him to speak. He directed his words at Dumbledore, however, and chose them with enormous care. Exhausted and bleary-eyed though he was, he must make one last effort, seeking one last piece of advice.

“The thing that was hidden in the Snitch,” he began, “I dropped it in the forest. I don’t know exactly where, but I’m not going to go looking for it again. Do you agree?”

“My dear boy, I do,” said Dumbledore, while his fellow pictures looked confused and curious. “A wise and courageous decision, but no less than I would have expected of you. Does anyone else know where it fell?”

“No one,” said Harry, and Dumbledore nodded his satisfaction.

“I’m going to keep Ignotus’s present, though,” said Harry, and Dumbledore beamed.

“But of course, Harry, it is yours forever, until you pass it on!”

“And then there’s this.”

Harry held up the Elder Wand, and Draco and Hermione looked at it with a reverence that, even in his befuddled and sleep-deprived state, Harry did not like to see.

“I don’t want it.” said Harry.

“What?” said Draco loudly. “But it's yours now, you won it from Pansy, it's accepted you as it's master. There's no better wand.”

“I know it’s powerful,” said Harry wearily. “But I was happier with mine. So...”

He rummaged in the pouch hung around his neck, and pulled out the two halves of holly still just connected by the finest thread of phoenix feather. Hermione had said that they could not be repaired, that the damage was too severe. All he knew was that if this did not work, nothing would.

He laid the broken wand upon the headmaster’s desk, touch it with the very tip of the Elder Wand, and said “Reparo.”

As his wand resealed, red sparks flew out of its end. Harry knew that he had succeeded. He picked up the holly and phoenix wand and felt a sudden warmth in his fingers, as though wand and hand were rejoicing at their reunion.

“I’m putting the Elder Wand,” he told Dumbledore, who was watching him with enormous affection and admiration, “back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won’t it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That’ll be the end of it.”

Dumbledore nodded. They smiled at each other.

“Are you sure?” said Draco. There was the faintest trace of longing in his voice as he looked at the Elder Wand.

“I think Harry’s right,” said Hermione quietly.

“That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Harry. “And quite honestly,” he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”

  



	16. Nineteen Years Later

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first of September was crisp as an apple, and as the little family bobbed across the rumbling road toward the great sooty station, the fumes of car exhausts and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air. Two large cages rattled on top of the laden trolleys the parents were pushing; the owls inside them hooted indignantly, and the bushy-haired girl trailed fearfully behind her brothers, clutching her father's arm.

"It won't be long, and you'll be going too," Harry told her.

"Two years," sniffed Lily. "I want to go now!"

The commuters stared curiously at the owls as the family wove its way toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Scorpius’ voice drifted back to Harry over the surrounding clamour; his sons had resumed the argument they had started in the car.

"I will! I will be a Slytherin!"

"James, give it a rest!" said Draco.

"I only said he might not be," said James, grinning at his younger brother. "There's nothing wrong with that. He might be in Ravenclaw like Aunt Luna."

But James caught his father's eye and fell silent. The combined Potter-Malfoy family approached the barrier. With a slightly cocky look over his shoulder at his younger brother, James took the trolley from Draco and broke into a run. A moment later, he had vanished.

"You'll write to me, won't you?" Scorpius asked his parents immediately, capitalizing on the momentary absence of his brother.

"Every day, if you want us to," said Draco.

"Not every day," said Scorpius quickly, "James says most people only get letters from home about once a month."

"Harry wrote to James three times a week last year," said Draco.

"And you don't want to believe everything he tells you about Hogwarts," Harry put in. "He likes a laugh, your brother."

Side by side, they pushed the second trolley forward, gathering speed. As they reached the barrier, Scorpius winced, but no collision came. Instead, the family emerged onto platform nine and three-quarters, which was obscured by thick white steam that was pouring from the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Indistinct figures were swarming through the mist, into which James had already disappeared.

"Where are they?" asked Scorpius anxiously, peering at the hazy forms they passed as they made their way down the platform.

"We'll find them," said Draco reassuringly.

But the vapour was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody's faces. Detached from their owners, voices sounded unnaturally loud, Harry thought he heard Percy discoursing loudly on broomstick regulations, and was quite glad of the excuse not to stop and say hello. . . .

"I think that's them, Scorpius," said Draco suddenly.

A group of four people emerged from the mist, standing alongside the very last carriage. Their faces only came into focus when Harry, Draco, Lily, and Scorpius had drawn right up to them.

"Hi," said Scorpius, sounding immensely relieved.

Arthur, who was already wearing his brand-new Hogwarts robes, beamed at him.

"Parked all right, then?" Neville asked Harry. "I did. Ginny didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you? She thought I'd have to Confound the examiner."

"No, I didn't," said Ginny, an amused gleam in her eye, "I had complete faith in you."

"As a matter of fact, I did Confund him," Neville whispered to Harry, as together they lifted Scorpius's trunk and owl onto the train. "I only forgot to look in the wing mirror, and let's face it, I can use a Supersensory Charm for that."

Back on the platform, they found Lily and Alice, Arthur's younger sister, having an animated discussion about which House they would be sorted into when they finally went to Hogwarts.

"If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you," said Ginny, "but no pressure."

"Ginny!" said Neville.

Lily and Alice laughed, but Scorpius and Arthur looked solemn.

"She doesn't mean it," said Neville, but Ginny was no longer paying attention. Catching Harry's eye, she nodded to a point some fifty yards away. The steam had thinned for a moment, and four more people stood in sharp relief against the shifting mist, one holding a baby.

"They’re here."

“Aunt Luna,” shouted Scorpius, at the same time as Lily shouted, “Auntie Hermione!”

The kids pelted over to greet their birth mothers and their husbands.

"So that's little Ronald," said Ginny under her breath, eyeing the baby in Hermione’s arms. "Don’t you think it’s strange?"

"I think it’s nice," said Harry, firmly. Ginny and Hermione had fallen out not long after the war, when Hermione had started dating Victor again less than a year after Ron’s death. The situation had then been exacerbated by Hermione unexpectedly taking up with Percy for a few months after she broke up with Viktor. But that had all been a very long time ago.

It had been a rocky road, but three years ago Viktor and Hermione had reunited when he had moved to England to be the new Bulgarian Ambassador. Harry had been the best man at their wedding last year, and their first child had been born only six months ago, Ronald Viktor Krum. Lily’s half brother, for Hermione had carried Lily for Harry when Luna, James and Scorpius’s birth mother, had been unavailable. 

"She never stopped caring for Ron," he said.

"I know," said Ginny. “It’s just… when I see them I can’t help thinking that should have been Ron.”

They joined the rest. Luna was telling them all about her latest trip with Rolph. Viktor loomed behind Hermione with one hand on her shoulder, looking as pleased to be by her side as he always had done, even as long ago as the Yule Ball.

"Hey!" James had reappeared; he had divested himself of his trunk, owl, and trolley, and was evidently bursting with news.

"Teddy's back there," he said breathlessly, pointing back over his shoulder into the billowing clouds of steam. "Just seen him! And guess what he's doing? Snogging Victoire!"

Ginny looked at him in horror, “But Victoire’s his cousin!”

"Our Teddy! Snogging our Victoire! And I asked Teddy what he was doing --"

"You interrupted them?" said Draco. "You are so like your father --"

"-- and he said he'd come to see her off! And then he told me to go away. He's snogging her!" James added as though worried he had not made himself clear.

"Oh, it would be lovely if they got married!" whispered Lily ecstatically.

"No it wouldn’t!" said Ginny.

"Purebloods marry their cousins all the time,” remarked Draco, unphased.

"Not their first cousins!" said Hermione.

Draco shrugged elegantly.

“I wonder if he’s dating Ronnie too,” commented Luna. Veronique was Victoire Weasley’s twin sister. Their parents were either Fred or George, who had both married Fleur Delacour. Much to everyone’s surprise, it turned out there was no actual wizarding law against marrying more than one person.

Neville checked his battered old watch that had once been Fabian Prewett's. "It's nearly eleven, you'd better get on board."

"Don't forget to give Remus our love!" Harry told James as he hugged him.

"Dad! I can't give a professor love!"

"But Remus is your godfather--"

James rolled his eyes. "I know that, but he’s still my Professor! I can't walk into History and give him love. . . ." Shaking his head at his father's foolishness, he vented his feelings by aiming a kick at Scorpius. "See you later, Scorp. Watch out for the thestrals."

"I thought they were invisible? You said they were invisible!" but James merely laughed, permitted Harry to kiss his forehead, gave Draco a fleeting hug, then leapt onto the rapidly filling train. They saw him wave, then sprint away up the corridor to find his friends.

"Thestrals are nothing to worry about," Harry told Scorpius. "They're gentle things, there's nothing scary about them. Anyway, you won't be going up to school in the carriages, you'll be going in the boats."

Ginny kissed Arthur good-bye. "See you at Christmas."

"Bye, Scorp," said Harry as his son hugged him. "Don't forget Hagrid's invited you to tea next Friday. Don't mess with Peeves. Don't duel anyone till you're learned how. And don't let James wind you up."

"What if I'm not in Slytherin?"

The whisper was for Harry alone, and Harry knew that only the moment of departure could have forced Scorpius to reveal how great and sincere that fear was.

Harry crouched down so that Scorpius' face was slightly above his own. Alone of Harry's three children, Scorpius had Draco’s eyes and hair, as well as his last name. Something about that made Harry more anxious for him than the other two. James and Lily seemed so much tougher than Scorpius.

"Scorpius Lucius," Harry said quietly, so that nobody but Draco could hear, and he was tactful enough to pretend to be waving to Arthur, who was now on the train. "Your Father loves you, and he will love you just as much if you are in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor or Hufflepuff."

"But just say--"

"--then that House will have gained an excellent student, won't it? It doesn't matter to us, Scorp. But if it matters to you that you take after your Father and Grandparents, you'll be able to choose Slytherin over another option. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."

"Really?"

"It did for me," said Harry.

He had never told any of his children that before, and he saw the wonder in Scorpius' face when he said it. But now the doors were slamming all along the scarlet train, and the blurred outlines of parents swarming forward for final kisses, last-minute reminders, Scorpius jumped into the carriage and Draco closed the door behind him.

Students were hanging from the windows nearest them. A great number of faces, both on the train and off, seemed to be turned toward Harry.

"Why are they all staring?" demanded Scorpius as he and Arthur craned around to look at the other students.

"Don't let it worry you," said Ginny. "It's me, I'm extremely famous."

Scorpius, Arthur, Alice, and Lily laughed. The train began to more, and Harry walked alongside it, watching his son's thin face, already ablaze with excitement. Harry kept smiling and waving, even though it was like a little bereavement, watching his son glide away from him. . . .

The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner.

Harry's hand was still raised in farewell.

"He'll be all right," murmured Draco.

As Harry looked at him, he lowered his hand absent mindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead.

"I know he will."

The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who like the details, the children in approx age order are...  
> Edward 'Teddy' Weasley - son of Bill Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks  
> Veronique 'Ronnie' and Victoire Weasley - twin daughters of Fleur Delacoeur and either Fred or George Weasley  
> James Sirius Potter - son of Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood (adoptive father Draco Malfoy)  
> Scorpius Lucius Malfoy - son of Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood (adoptive father Harry Potter)  
> Arthur Frank Longbottom - son of Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom  
> Lily Narcissa Potter - daughter of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger (adoptive father Draco Malfoy)  
> Alice Rose Longbottom - daughter of Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom  
> Ronald Viktor Krum - son of Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum


End file.
